


Ad'ika

by Fiddledeedee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Between Episodes, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Loneliness, baby yoda triggers my parental instincts hardcore, post Season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiddledeedee/pseuds/Fiddledeedee
Summary: A collection of inner-thoughts, conflicts and filler tales about ManDadlorian on his adventures through the galaxy with his trusty green sidekick, and the people they encounter in between.
Relationships: The Mandalorian & Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 172
Kudos: 940





	1. Chapter 1

The first twinge of hesitation Mando noticed was when he found himself constantly checking on the child currently passed out in the cradle beside him. Every other minute he looked to see if the little chest rose and fell, relief flooding through him when he confirmed the kid was still alive. Even throughout the night and morning while Kuiil and he repaired the Razor Crest, he paused and stepped aside to peer into the cradle.

Surely this was because he did not want the asset damaged so he got the full reward. That had to be the reason he panicked when the child collapsed after…whatever happened with the mudhorn. Events were still jumbled in his mind in a way he could not form into words. Maybe due to the heavy beating he still had not recovered from. If the infant was this powerful at his “young” age, how much would the powers grow into adulthood?

 _Who am I kidding? The Imps are gonna kill him_.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, sounding even lower through the mask. Kuiil glanced up, Mando ended his vocalization in a cough to hide it and abruptly stood and returned to the finishing touches of repairs on his ship. After he went to hyperspace he should tend in closer detail to his injuries, they had to be causing his abrupt reactions.

Within a few more hours the repairs were done and farewells made and he lifted off to return to the client, still baffled at his rash response to the asset’s fate after he should not worry about it. One of the worst sins he could do to the guild. 

That was why he forced himself to remain stoic when he caught movement in his periphery from the cot.

 _I should not worry about it_ , he repeated to himself. Which became easier to do as the child proceeded to try and dismantle various parts of the console and put them in his mouth.  
@@@

The second time he doubted his own intentions began the moment the stormtrooper yanked the cot with much more force than necessary.

He bristled. “Easy with that.”

“You ‘take it easy!’” retorted the trooper, still keeping a tight grip on the carrier. 

Mando bit his lip. At least ten other troopers patrolled somewhere in the bowels of the Empire base, he should show restraint, get the reward, and leave. Stormtroopers were notoriously trigger-happy and his armor was in almost disrepair. 

Why was he even running scenarios of a fight through his head? Within three minutes he should be out of there with a good amount of beskar, as easy a turn-in as his carbonite bounties. No questions, minimal dialogue, and he would be good to go.

He broke that promise to himself in less than three minutes.

As the scientist moved to the other door in the room, Mando felt the child’s eyes on him, and met his gaze. The infant’s ears drooped, his face crumpled up and he let out the first legitimate crying the Mandalorian had heard from the small being since their time together. In response to the sound his back stiffened, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. The uncomfortable feeling continued after the door slid shut, almost nauseating.

“What are your plans for it?” The question came before he could stop it.

He did not need to listen to the client’s response, the show of force from them as more stormtroopers entered the room was answer enough. Hand clasped around the safe of beskar, he stormed out of the bunker. On his walk to the covert his thoughts constantly reverted back to the child. Nothing could get his mind off of it, not even when Paz Vizsla tried to rip off his helmet. Their quarrel actually made him feel more guilt for his choice.

When inquired about his sigil, he tried to distance himself from the child by referring to it as an enemy—a flimsy lie to himself.

As he donned his new armor, the armorer’s words repeated in his head. _“Foundlings are the future._ ” Over and over again with each step he took to the cantina the statement reverberated, louder and louder as he passed the alleyway that led to the Empire remnant hideout. His steps faltered for a moment at the entrance to the alleyway.

He needed to get off this planet as fast and as far as possible before he did something stupid.

@@@

The third and final time he doubted his own decisions, he finally made up his mind. The Mandalorian Code overrode the Guild Code, and he broke it the moment he surrendered the Foundling who needed him, needed his clan. Needed a family. 

@@@

When he handed the knob to the child for him to play with, Mando noticed his hand was trembling. Had he just rampaged through an Imperial hideout all for the sake of the tiny green being now slobbering over a part of his ship? Did he just lose his primary source of income in a moment of self-righteousness?

From near his leg heard a coo. The baby had paused his play and stared up at Mando, ears pricked and eyes wide with a depth of understanding, like he understood the turmoil in the ex-bounty hunter’s soul. 

Where would they go with having likely the highest bounty currently in the galaxy? Laying low would be near impossible. Every pit stop they would make would require the highest amount of caution with the littlest thing.

Undecided, he entered the coordinates for a general area of the Western edges of the Outer Rim, remote enough and the hyperspace route would give him time to narrow down his decision on exactly where to go. And get some much needed rest and recovery.

When he made a move to get up, his body reminded him how much he neglected his injuries. Standing was more of a struggle than it should be, bruises on his chest and cracks in two of his ribs painfully reminding him of their existence. Managing to finally stand, he looked down to see the child had fallen asleep, makeshift ball in hand as he leaned against the console.

Steps as soft as if he stalked a nexu, he crept to the ladder behind the cockpit doors and went down to his cramped living quarters, actions made slower by the aches and pains. Everything had been moved around by the Jawa’s ransack of his ship, so it took longer than it should have to find his spare emergency blanket. 

Blanket in hand he returned to the cockpit and used it to form a makeshift bedding in the copilot chair for the kid. Looked more like a messy nest than a bed, but it would have to do. Gently he lifted the child—who thankfully did not stir—and placed him in the bedding, wrapping the excess blanket around him. 

The child remained in slumber as he went back down the ladder to his meager supplies. He locked the door to the cockpit, worried the child would try to wander the ship at some point when he was busy tending to his wounds and fall down the drop to his quarters.

Child-proofing the Razor Crest was not something he never thought would cross his mind in the entirety of his life.

Now able to focus fully on himself, the Mandalorian began the process of removing his armor. First came the boots, greaves, gloves, and gauntlets, followed by his cuirass and finally the helmet. Next he took off his undershirt, not surprised at the pattern of bruises and scrapes that bloomed across his torso. The deep scrape on his left bicep was inflamed, definitely needed extra bacta for that one. Likely a few cracked ribs and a knot on the side and back of his head as well.

Before he tended to those, he went into the shower and washed all the grime, mud, and blood from the past couple of days. The kid would need a bath too at some point. And more clothes than the robe becoming more tattered by the day. The fact this entered his mind at all startled him as he quickly rinsed off and let the fresher’s warm air dry him off. 

With his meager on board medkit he set about tending to his injuries, mainly the infected scrape on his arm and contusions on his head. Such wounds led to a wounded mind. That was the excuse he used to give for his brash decision to take back the child, but he knew it was something more. Something deeper.

The last bandage applications were a struggle because he kept dozing off midway. Finally finished and as patched up as he could hope to do on his own, he slowly rose, put on a shirt and pants and collapsed into his cot, not bothering to cover himself with the blanket.

@@@

_BANG! BANG!_

__

__

_He stared up at the basement doors, not daring to breathe. Blaster fire echoed in the background as his pursuer tore at the metal and forced the doors open. Petrified, he stared down the arm cannon the metallic terror pointed at him, a scream caught in his throat--_

@@@

His scream did not escape his mouth. Instead, a pathetic wail from another echoed throughout the ship. The yell faded into tiny sobs that catapulted him out of his cot and up the ladder. The doors to the cockpit opened painfully slow; he burst in the room to see the child bolt upright in the chair, the plaintive cries of distress tearing at him. 

“Hey, hey...” he approached the chair and reached out for the child, “It’s...”

He faded off when the child recoiled from his hands, the kid’s dark brown eyes wide with fear and filled to the brim with tears. The infant’s gaze darted around the Mandalorian as if looking at him for the first time, like it did not recognize--

The Mandalorian froze. 

Of course the child looked at him as a stranger without his helmet. His blood ran cold while he returned the kid’s equally horrified stare for a different reason. 

This was the first person to see his face since he chose to follow The Way. The first person to see him, to know who he was. A teary-eyed green baby with floppy ears was all it took to violate his Code. The very Code that compelled him to sever lucrative financial ties for this being. An inescapable logic loop.

Frantic sobs he never heard from the child ripped him from his crisis. “Calm down.” He tried to lose the gruff tone in his voice, keeping it soft. “It’s me, kid.”

The child’s crying faded to tiny hiccups and sobs, head tilted as he assessed the Mandalorian with more scrutiny beyond his years. Or worthy of his half-century of life. 

The Mandalorian slowly reached out again with one hand. Like when they met, the toddler reached out and coiled a tiny fist around his pointer finger. Mando leaned forward and lifted the upset child into his arms, the baby keeping one hand secure on his finger. A tiny fist curled into the collar of his undershirt.

Surely this was an exception for his clan. This was a Foundling, something they treasured as much as beskar steel. One’s family within the clan could know the face, know the true name. It would be impossible to live and function as a household without that exclusion. 

_Family…_

Was that what this child was? Was this his _ad'ika_? His life was meant to wander the galaxy, bring honor and resources home to his clan. Becoming caretaker to a child of an unknown species with unknown powers was not what he was meant to do.

He had no idea what he was doing.

Brooding, he paced the cockpit and slowly rocked the child back and forth in his arms, jumbled thoughts causing him to lose track of time. By instinct the fingers of one of his hands traced small patters on the petite back. Eventually the ear trembling that bothered the Mandalorian stilled. Before he knew it, the child’s breathing evened out in slumber. 

Exhaustion washed over him again. He walked to the copilot’s chair and lowered the child into it. 

Or tried.

Despite being so small, the infant’s grip on his shirt was strong. Injuries still paining him, the Mandalorian slowly crouched to place the child into his makeshift bed and detach. It was in vain, and only made the kid grip on harder, a tiny whine escaping the tiny being.

Sighing, he said, “Okay,” gathered up the spare blanket, and exited the cockpit. The whimpers changed to coos as he descended the ladder to his cramped quarters. Nothing down here could double for a crib, but the ad’ika did not give him much choice.

The Mandalorian shook his head. _Ad’ika,,,what am I thinking?_

The cot creaked as he sat on it, lifting his legs to lay on his side. He placed the ad’ika down beside him and scooted back. Most of the mattress was taken up by the kid due to the innate terror he had of rolling over on top of the small, fragile body in his sleep. His back was pressed against the wall.

No matter how much room he gave the toddler, he would shuffle closer. With no more room to give, Mando surrendered as his ad’ika again grabbed a fist-full of his shirt, buried his head into his chest and tucked under his right arm. Within seconds the little being was asleep again.

The solace lulled him into the depths of slumber as well, hand coming to cradle the back of his ad’ika’s head.

@@@

The clank of metal against the floor jerked him awake. It took him a few seconds to contemplate his situation, coming to realize the tiny bundle of warmth that nestled beside him hours ago was absent. Bolting upright, he sat up, eyes darting around the room to settle on his helmet.

Which was on the floor. Moving.

His eyes adjusted to the night light settings of his ship and he focused on the helm. Two tiny legs shuffled underneath, towards him. Gleeful coos garbled by the vocoder in the helmet pulled his mouth into a taut smile, warmth spreading from the core of his body as the ad’ika toddled to stand at his feet, drawing himself up to an almost salute aimed at Mando.

He made no move to remove it as he stood up, fighting the urge to smile too much to encourage rebellious behavior. “If you want one, we will get you one, ad’ika.”

The infant giggled but playfully ran off as Mando bent over to grab the helmet. He sighed and started to pull his armor off the shelf he stored it away on when he showered and treated his injuries. “Alright, you can play with it til I get the rest of my armor on, then you have to give it back.”

All he got in response was an affirmative babble, but it was enough.

While he put on his beskar armor, the Mandalorian came up clueless to how his ad’ika managed to steal his helmet from such a high shelf. He shook his head.

Foundlings. Always up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my first posts on this site. Normally I write original fiction and read fanfiction as a guilty pleasure, but I couldn't help myself. I blame baby Yoda. More to come.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our main duo settles into daily rural life.

Being prepared for any situation at any moment was something instilled into Mandalorians from as soon as they are able to don a helmet and wield a weapon. Survival depended on the arsenal at their disposal, the wits to respond to countless scenarios and fights, and the armor to shield their bodies and embrace The Way. Mando seldom walked into a room without assessing all possible entries and exits, always having a blaster at his side and vibroblade on his person. 

But now, he was woefully unprepared and completely out of his element, sternly staring down at the ad’ika, who grinned back with a cheeky expression. More and more he lost battles of will to the toddler, and was surprised how little that bothered him. From the start of his path in life as a Mandalorian he felt the underdog, but his strong will brought victory, to the point the covert finally trusted him to go above ground and gain honor.

All that hard work thrown away for a monumental task he was not cut out for, had no experience with, and zero equipment. Zero. Not since he was a youngling did he commit to something while being so woefully undersupplied and lacking mental preparation.

Silently Mando lamented not grabbing another one of those floating carriage the ad’ika first came with, pace slowed to let him catch up. The kid kept up better than he thought he would, but the little legs could only move so far and so fast. Mando took the opportunity of the slow walk to gather more information on this planet’s surroundings.

“OooOOoh!”

Mando turned around and saw the ad’ika had strayed off the path, hands ensnared around a florescent blue slug. He made to put it into his mouth, but the Mandalorian reached out and took it from him, replacing it back on the tree trunk the kid grabbed it from. Slime covered his glove, as he thought it would.

“Hey ad—kid,” he stuttered, “come over here and wipe that stuff off your hands. Dunno if it’s poisonous or not.” 

Since the one time after the kid had a nightmare, the Mandalorian had not verbally referred to the child as ad’ika, especially when trying to get his attention or talking to him. He could not justify why he limited using Mando’a language around the toddler. Deep down he knew the more he exposed him to Mandalorian ways and culture, the harder it would be to part ways. It would mean he had affection for the ad’ika, after all that word was already the default term Mando identified him as in his passing thoughts.

He used the bottom of his cloak to wipe the slime off the small three-fingered hands, lost in his own thoughts. Soon enough they would have to go separate ways, the Mandalorian wanted this being to have some semblance of childhood. If he was fifty years old at this stage in life, his lifespan was likely ten times that of Mando’s.

A coo broke his ruminations as the little one wiggled loose from his grasp, then waddled to the other side of the footpath at a much quicker gait than before. He squealed upon reaching his destination, some sort of mushroom which he promptly aimed to stuff it in his mouth. The Mandalorian sighed, pried the fungus from his fingers and tossed it into the woods.

The ad’ika let his displeasure be known with small sniffles, followed by a growling stomach.

“I know, I know. The faster we get to town, the faster you can eat actual food.”

Ears drooped, but he fell in line behind the Mandalorian and they walked together to the civilization appearing in the distance.

@@@

“Excuse me? Mandalorian?”

He turned and saw the woman who graciously offered them lodging—Omera was her name—struggling with some sort of bulky object at the entrance of the building. Setting aside the blaster he had disassembled to clean, he walked over to help.

Once they got it inside and set it near the far wall, he realized what it was: a crib. Inside were bundles of fabrics and blankets as well. Unsure of what to say, he stared at Omera.

“It was Winta’s.” She smiled, running her hand on the carved wood railing. “It’s collecting dust, so I thought your boy could use it.”

_Your boy_

Mando did not correct her, he could not bring himself to. “Thank you. His last one...broke.” It would be hard to explain that Imperial remnants through it into the garbage.

“Of course.” She turned her smile to him, contagious enough that he felt himself returning the expression beneath his helmet. “I also tried to find some clothing that might fit him, it looked like you didn’t have many to spare and...I don’t know how long you’re going to stay so ask if you need anything.”

“I will.”

One more time she smiled at him, then turned and walked away, Mando watching her leave.

“Mgrrb?” He looked down to the ad’ika at his feet, who peered up at him, head cocked to the side in curiosity. Then he looked to the door where she had just left, then back to the Mandalorian.

“What?”

All he got in an answer was babbles and coos with an almost cheeky grin. Mando shook his head and sorted through the other contents of the crib. 

There were three small robes made from the same material as most of the village’s clothing, a small blanket perfect size for the bed, and pieces of square fabric like handkerchiefs. It took a moment for him to recognize the fabric as diapers. Embarrassed for a moment, he flashed back to the Razor Crest. If someone went through his search history on the Holonet over the past week, they would be very confused that he simultaneously sought out demonstrations of how to change a diaper, and places to purchase disruptor rifle ammo. 

It took way more trial and error than he thought to change a diaper. It was easier to fight Paz Vizsla in hand-to-hand combat than wrestle the kid into clean clothing and undergarments. 

Also in the crib was a tiny bright blue stuffed animal, which he recognized as the krill the village farmed.

“Hey, womprat.” 

The ad’ika plopped down from the basket he rummaged through, then his gaze widened as he locked on the bright object in the Mandalorian’s hand. Squeals of delight Mando had only heard once before when the little thief stole his helmet the other day bubbled from the child as he scurried to him. Crouching, he handed over the toy.

The last thing in the bed was a wrapped parcel. Inside was some of the food from the dinner the village hosted for their arrival. Omera must have noticed he did not eat with the others. An unfamiliar emotion twinged in his chest at her gesture.

@@@

Getting all the muck and pond scum out of his armor was taking way longer than he planned. At least he had no circuitry that needed extensive repairs unlike his encounter with the mudhorn. The kid has passed out long ago in the crib, tired from the after-battle celebrations and feast in the village. Fatigue crept up on the Mandalorian as well, but the longer his armor remained dirty the harder it would get to clean. Maybe he should have chosen a different appearance with the beskar, not as shiny.

Periodically he took a bite of food from the plate Omera brought him after the celebration, enjoying this trend of actual food instead of the bland rations bars that were the staple of his diet in his bounty travels. Taste was not something he cared about just weeks ago, but he knew he would miss it when he eventually left this planet.

After they clean up all the scrap from the AT-ST and recuperate the village, then they could leave. He could leave now but…

He looked over to the crib where the toddler lay, hand curled around the krill toy. The past few weeks the ad’ika settled in far faster than Mando did. Happiness oozed from the kid, past the physical and emotional armor the Mandalorian wore, wrapping around his heart. He fit in here much better than an ex-bounty hunter.

Concern took over when the ad’ika’s features wrinkled in distress, restless in sleep.

_Again?_

One thing the village had not changed for the better for the kid were the nightmares. At least once a week little mewling cries woke up the Mandalorian In the middle of the night. Once he let out a terrified yell like previously on the ship. That time it took almost half an hour to calm the terrified toddler down.

The ad’ika’s restlessness turned to outright thrashing, prompting the Mandalorian to walk over. “Hey, little guy.” He shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Under his hand he felt the kid’s back jump in surprise. Befuddled and frightened eyes still bleary from sleep sought succor in Mando’s eyes, hands reaching up in a gesture universal across many species. The Mandalorian sighed, leaned over and picked him up.

The tiny form trembled and hiccoughed in his hands. His persistent nightmares must spawn from the fifty years of past that remained a mystery to Mando—he did not know if he wanted to find out what atrocities the little one lived through or witnessed for half a century. Was he alone that whole time? Passed from person to person like black market spice?

Like the night he woke up screaming, he was taking longer to calm back down.

“ _M..mhi solus tome_ ” he murmured after brief hesitation. If he never spoke Mando’a the language would die. The child lifted his face from the Mandalorian’s chest to look at him, still sniffling but less scared.

“ _Mhi solus dhar’tome_ ,” he continued in low tones, the language flowing over his lips with more ease than Basic. Within seconds the exhausted child stilled and sagged against him, eyelids drooping and hiccoughing only once more.

The Mandalorian walked to the crib and lowered the tiny foundling into it. Crouching, he reached through the railings and rested a hand on the small forehead“ _Mhi me’dinui an_ ” The child’s eyes blinked slowly as he reached for the stuffed toy and cuddled it to him under his arm.

“ _Aliit ori’shya tl’din..._ ” The Mandalorian’s voice lowered to an almost whisper, fingers brushed against his forehead. _”...ad’ika.”_ Finally the child fell sound asleep.

A cough from behind startled him into standing straight, hands gripping the side of the crib. “Wait,” he barked in a whisper-yell. “I’m not--”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’ll turn my back to you I swear I didn’t see anything it’s too dark--” Omera stammered.

“It’s okay,” he said as he shuffled aside, seeing her back to him in his periphery. He turned his body ninety degrees in angle to her so they could speak better.

“I—I finished cleaning up after the feast and heard the boy crying when I passed by the barn,” she continued to explain, “I stopped to see if you were there and...”

The Mandalorian remained silent, letting her continue if she chose. Likely she heard him speaking when comforting the kid, no escaping that.

“Was...was that Mando’a?”

He blinked. “You know the name of our tongue?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you say?” Resolute in her promise she did not turn to look at him while he stared at her. Yet again she surprised him with some secret about herself. Most people knew a few random famous facts about the Mandalorian culture, but not many knew they spoke another language.

She plainly did not wish to answer his question. “Something we say to each other for encouragement,” he responded, being vague as well. Explaining the meaning of his words was too difficult to vocalize in Basic.

“Whatever you said to him, it seemed to work well. You should teach him some, it’s a beautiful language.”

An awkward pause lasted between them. Mando had the sudden urge for her to turn around to face him, the desire for her to see his face very strong. Why did he feel this way? Why the need to break the Code? Words he wanted to say caught in his throat.

Her will was stronger than his. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, please let me know any time day or night if you need anything. Good night.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. She paused, head tilting to the side but snapping back to face forward again. “Good night,” he added.

She nodded once and left.

The Mandalorian sank into the chair, rubbing a hand over his face and releasing the breath he did not realize he held. His heart hammered in his chest as if he just finished a fight. What was wrong with him? He was definitely no longer tired, that was certain.

He returned to scrubbing his armor with much more gusto than needed.

@@@

When the village faded from view, the ad’ika’s ears fell, posture slouched in sadness. The sight tore at Mando. Simply by existing the child could not have a normal life in a village surrounded by kids and folks with little to worry about except the outcome of the next harvest. Any friends made he had to discard to protect them. Was the child due to experience centuries of lonliness?

Their options of places to go and hide were running out. His clan might be one of the only places they could lay low for a while in the covert, but that would require finding their new hideout first. And getting them to accept this tiny green alien as Mando’ade would be difficult.

The child’s shoulders shook. The Mandalorian turned to dig through a bag. The village gave them much needed travel supplies, and he was able to keep some items for the kid as well. His hand closed around the soft stuffed animal and he pulled it out.

“Ad’ika,” he nudged the child with the toy, “here.”

The child turned, ears perking up slightly when he saw the krill. Accepting the offer, he hugged it close to him, not completely cheered up but at least comforted in friends found and lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mhi solus tome." (We are one together.)  
> "Mhi solus dhar'tome." (We are one when parted.)  
> "Mhi me'dinui an." (We share all.)  
> "Aliit ori'shya tl'din" (Family is more than bloodlines.)
> 
> Thanks for the positive response, hope you enjoy!


	3. Regret--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions run high as supplies run low for our Mandalorian and little green guy.

The Mandalorian slammed the door to his arsenal shut a bit more forceful than necessary. At least one third of this weapons needed some sort of maintenance or cleaning far beyond the resources he had. Three pieces of disruptor ammunition, no whistling birds, and one last fuel canister for his flamethrower. The remaining pieces of durasteel armor he had were in desperate need of repair or outright replacement. One more punch to the metal door vented some of his frustration, a sizable dent left behind. 

“Goooahh?” At his ankles the kid’s eyes were wide with curiosity, ears lopsided as he studied the small tantrum. 

His presence quelled the rage, but not the vexation roiling within Mando. “We’re running out of stuff, ad’ika. We gotta find somewhere we can go and stock back up.”

The past few weeks he bounced back and forth between planetary orbits, lingering until inquiring calls from spaceports made him pick up and carry on to the next place on the Outer Rim. Being cooped up in the _Razor Crest_ drove both the child and himself stir-crazy.

With a deep breath he hauled himself up the ladder and into the cockpit to make yet another search of nearby planets. Behind him the ad’ika whined.

“You can climb down, so you can climb up too,” he muttered, foul mood building again. No more noise from the kid, but he did not join him in the cockpit either. Cabin fever and rationing supplies caused tension that should not be there between him and the little one who likely had little understanding of what was happening. 

Thirty minutes passed, but the only solution where he could replace specialized equipment not in the Core turned his stomach. Nar Shaddaa, the Smugglers Moon. What little currency he saved would be used to purchase the best place to port and hide his ship, a bracer shield to conceal the fob signal emitting from the child (one use only, limited battery time), the rest to purchase parts and bribe. The ad’ika would not like the repeated ration bar diet for the upcoming weeks.

His fingers hovered over the controls. _I have a bad feeling about this..._

What choice did he have? Time marched forward, both the child’s and his bounty grew and grew. so more and more joined in on the lottery for the outrageous reward. To the point a mafia-held system provided more temporary safety and resources than a back-water bayou like Sorgan.

Sadness joined the tumultuous storm of emotions whirling within the Mandalorian. He tried not to remember Omera’s crestfallen expression at his farewell, but like many things in his life it was impossible to forget. Various items brought a pang of longing when he saw them—the ad’ika’s favorite toy, the blue fringes on the clothing gifted to the child, the last bit of dried meat and vegetables in their meager food supply--all bittersweet reminders of the taste of a life he could never have. Yet, the Mandalorian was thankful he got a taste of a normal life, rather than nothing at all.

Mind made up, he punched in the coordinates for Hutt space and watched the starlines of hyperspace streak by. Already he regretted it. The only thing he bet on were the crime lords that spent decades on the most wanted bounty lists. Some of them had been on it for literally decades, a couple before Mando left on his first bounty at fifteen. It was a shaky bet at best, but all he had.

Uncomfortable silence permeated the ship. Regret crept into his thoughts, he should not take out his ineptitude on the ad’ika. Letting out a melancholy sigh, he left the cockpit with the aim to seek out the kid and apologize, if he even understood it.

Just before he climbed down to the living quarters, movement caught his eye. Rooted to the spot, he watched as the stuffed blue krill spiraled slowly in the air, weaving in between spare bits and screws hovering midair. After the toy reached the end of the row, it doubled back as if swimming.

The ad’ika’s face was screwed up in concentration, both hands extended as he manipulated the intricate movements of objects that should be stationary. And on the ground.

This continued for almost five minutes, the Mandalorian watching in awe, realizing he knew next to nothing about this Foundling. It was like when he watched sparring tournaments as a child and the movements seemed like an intricate dance rather than a brawl. Not paying attention, his left cuff scraped against the metal railing of the ladder when he leaned against it. Immediately all the objects fell to the ground, the kid’s attention snapping to him.

Instead of a cheerful coo of greeting, all he got was a frown. The child waddled to his toy, snatched it up, went back to his original spot and turned his back to Mando. 

He scowled. “We’re about to come out of hyperspace, we need to get ready to go.” Descending the ladder, he thought he heard a tiny “hurmf” from the kid’s general direction.

Like he predicted, the soles of his boots barely touched the floor of his living quarters before the ship shook as it left hyperspace, a bit more shaky than normal since the Jawa incident. Armor already on, he focused on what little armory he had left to his disposal. He loaded the last fuel cell into his gauntlet, armed himself with the last of whatever resources he had at his disposal. The last task left was the most difficult, important, time-consuming, and a test of will. 

The ad’ika had to agree to ride in the sling. Neither of them wanted this, but especially on a planet with as much seedy foot-traffic as Nar Shaddaa’s city hubs, he could not rely on the kid to keep up.

He picked up the kid out of his corner, draped the reluctant toddler over his shoulders, and proceeded to wrap the long piece of cloth as Omera instructed around the both of them. Disgruntled grunts displayed how unhappy the little one was with his current situation, but the Mandalorian ignored them, irritated with the combative nature of the ad’ika lately. Over the sling he secured his cloak so he could whip it over and hide the child from sight on a moment’s notice.

@@@

When the ramp lowered, five armed individuals met him, the particular code he used with the ship identification number a signal to what he wanted. Credits and negotiated currency exchanged hands, including the desired fob-dampener. It was meant to be worn around the average human bicep, but was a very loose necklace for the child.

He ignored the stares as he swung the ad’ika in the sling to his front. Displeasure was evident on the kid’s face—he had been in a sour mood all day, not unlike the Mandalorian. The toddler grunted and turned his head away, fighting the Mandalorian trying to clasp the dampener. 

“Stop, you have to wear this,” he explained, followed by an exasperated sigh. After a few seconds of struggle it loosely draped around the sulking child’s neck. One of the armed dock guards whipped out a tracking fob, turned to point it at the kid. 

Mando shifted the sling to his back, placing his body between the ad’ika and the beeping sensor. Its frequency did not change despite the person getting closer. “It works,” declared the guard, deactivating the fob. Despite that, the Mandalorian wanted to leave the docks, get his supplies, and leave the scummy moon.

“You have a puck too?”

The guard grinned. “I’d say a good one-third of this moon does.” He nodded at the Mandalorian. “Best keep that thing covered to stay low.”

Mando did not respond, just stormed past them and out the hanger bay. Still, he took his cloak and completely covered the sling. Indignant mumbles from the child voiced its malcontent with the lack of a view. “Better safe than sorry, ad’ika.”

@@@

He first noticed them being watched for longer than a cursory glance of him in his shining beskar when he made a pit-stop on the way to the vendor who dealt specifically in illegal ammunition. Against his back the young one had been fidgety and voicing his unhappiness at higher and higher volumes. They stopped by a food stall with some seafood balls on a stick. 

As he purchased one and lifted the side of his cloak to pass it to the ad’ika—who accepted it with glee—it was the lack of movement that caught his eye. Cutting his eyes to the side, but acting like he saw nothing, he studied the figure about twenty yards away staring head-on at him from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. A large Ithorian shuffled between them and of course the mysterious figure disappeared after it passed. 

The Mandalorian picked up his pace, left fingers clasping the cloak edge down by his waist to keep it from fluttering and showing even one square inch of the child’s face, the other hand hovering right by his blaster. When he stepped on the turbo-lift he immediately shut the doors behind him so he was alone on the lift, much to the chagrin of others who tried to get on after him.

By himself, he let out a sigh, lifting his cloak and turning to look over his shoulder. “Doing okay back there now, ad’ika?”

The little black eyes peered up at him, but he did not make an answering coo like normal. Not even the little fussy noises he made just minutes earlier. His ears were low, both his little hands clinging to the back of his chestpiece as tight as they could.

Skin prickled on the back of the Mandalorian’s neck, and this time he actually drew his blaster pistol. The vendor that sold ammo for his disruptor lived almost a thousand levels down, close to the headquarters to the remnants of swoop gangs and Huttese-led mafia, so the lift ride still had a minute or two left to go.

 _Cara Dune attacked me from above_... He jerked his head up to face three muzzles pointed down at him through the ventilation grate. In one swift movement he swung the sling around to bring the child to his chest and under a protective arm, while shooting up and into ventilation grate as many times as he could fire.

Unfortunately his beskar was not as resilient to high-voltage electric shocks that made contact in the space between his armor and spread over his body. After the first one rang true and seized up the right side of his body, the toddler screamed out in pain, making his blood run cold. The Mandalorian pulled at the sling and with a yelp the ad’ika tumbled to the ground. Thankfully he already kneeled so the kid did not have far to fall. At least the shocks would not transfer to the little one, his tiny body could not withstand multiple shocks. 

Mando lifted his left arm and fired a stream of flames to the direction of the stun weapons. He heard a yell and at least three people speaking at once. Muscles stopped clenching on his right side and he fired the blaster. One of the stun guns fell into the lift, but too far away for the Mandalorian to dive for, his form crouched directly over the kid. 

Three pulses in direct sequence hit him in the durasteel leg guard and gauntlet, and his underarm. He narrowly avoided falling on top of the tiny child, who had started to move again after being stunned and began to cry. The Mandalorian fought to stay conscious, unable to move.

The grating clattered to the ground beside him, and three pairs of feet dropped to the ground. “I’ll get the target, you two take care of him,” commanded a warbled, scratchy voice. Mando’s eyes were locked on the child, blood from his tongue flowing in his mouth as he fought to speak. The same individual from before that wore the wide hat. A Duros…

His stomach dropped, he struggled to move to no avail. Only one person fit that description and swift expertise taking down a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter that was not just the best in the Outer Rim, but the best in the galaxy since the legendary Jango Fett.

Cad Bane.

The legendary bounty hunter pressed a button as the lift stopped to keep the doors shut, then squatted beside the child, whose desperate cries came in gasps of fright and pain, arms reaching out towards the paralyzed Mando as he got to his feet and toddled to him. Bane grabbed the kid roughly by the collar. The Mandalorian’s blood boiled. “Ah, that’s what was going on, he put on a shield to disrupt the fob signal. Better keep it on.”

Bane turned his attention to someone out of Mando’s view. “Kid, what are you waiting for? I’d think you’d of all people know how to take down a Mandaloirian.”

“I—I didn’t know. I don’t, we--” one of them stammered through a vocoder behind a mask, voice cracking like the teenager he probably was.

“I don’t care about your religious beliefs, you _will_ kill him. Take that vibroblade of yours and stab him. So far you’ve done nothing since I paid you to help me.” The bounty hunter’s face betrayed his struggles with the child, who squirmed in his restraint and wailed at Mando.

Another set of legs came into view. “I’ll do it.”

The sound of blaster fire immediately followed by the reverberation in his helmet rang out, making him bite his already wounded tongue even more.

“He’s almost fully covered in beskar, idiot,” lashed out Cad Bane, “at least pass me that crate, kid, if you’re just gonna stand there.” 

Beside the Duros, the youngest of the crew placed a crate with small holes and knelt to the ground, turning his helmet-covered head to face the still paralyzed Mando.

A Mandalorian—one that could not have been much older than fifteen years old—did not rise nor cease staring at Mando. At his side, the bounty hunter opened the crate and forced the hysterical ad’ika into the crate.

“If you take him, I will never stop chasing you, wherever you go in the galaxy,” snarled the Mandalorian, voice found after his jaw stopped clenching. His toes and fingers could also move now. 

“One of you kill him before he can move again!” said Bane, fighting the child to close the door of the crate.

The one who shot before pulled a vibroblade from his belt and stormed over to the Mandalorian, halting above him with the blade aimed at the gap between his helmet and shoulders. He raised back, then lashed out.

A blaster bolt exited the front of the scoundrel’s skull, the round hole smoking as he dropped to the floor directly in front of the Mandalorian. Able to turn his head now, he craned his neck and saw the boy’s blaster extended from his same kneeling position.

Cad Bane snarled and reached for his blaster, the younger Mandalorian whipping his blaster around to aim at the seasoned bounty hunter in front of him.

The Duros was faster, smoothly drawing his blaster and firing from his hip in one motion--

\--only to be blown backwards into the elevator doors as if hit by a Mudhorn, sliding down to the floor gasping for the air knocked from his lungs by the collision. His blaster bolt hit the boy in the shoulder of the arm aiming his blaster. Armor still simple and rough, the shoulder plate was not even durasteel, but plastisteel. The teen cried out in pain and dropped his blaster, clutching at his arm.

The Mandalorian could move his limbs from elbows down and the knees down, but still lacked the ability to aim a weapon or stand, not even drag himself over to the ad’ika crying for him from the crate. The desperate sound lanced through him as if it were physical pain. The cries became weaker and weaker after such exertion, worrying the Mandalorian even more. Helpless, he flailed like a fish as Cad Bane recovered faster.

The older bounty hunter slowly got to his feet, breathing now regular as he cracked his neck. “Jedi,” he muttered with disdain, pressing a few buttons on his gauntlet. The crate levitated, just like the cradle Mando found the kid inside. 

Finally the ad’ika’s cries faded into silence. “Good,” Cad Bane stated. He turned to face the two Mandalorians writhing on the elevator floor. “You are both lucky, I have come up against many of your kind and they have died. Killing you now would bring more trouble from your little tribe than what it’s worth at the moment.” He smiled and tipped his hat at the both of them. “Farewell.” 

The turbo-lift doors slid open and the bounty hunter stepped into a dimly-lit corridor, void of other people. The crate floated out behind him.

The Mandalorian roared in rage as the door closed, finally able to drag himself to the control panel. His hand was inches from the buttons when the lift was called by some unsuspecting individual on another floor. He memorized the floor Cad Bane was on (floor B421) and fought to stand, using the handrails to pull himself up.

Footsteps even heavier from his recently shocked limbs, he stormed over to the teen, who cowered against the far wall. The Mandalorian hooked his hand under the chin of the boy’s helm and yanked up, Despite the wounded shoulder, the young man used both this arms to prevent Mando from pulling off his helmet. 

Slowly he stood. “I didn’t mean to take your bounty, I just got paid by that--”

“That is not my bounty,” Mando growled through gritted teeth, “He is a Foundling, one of us.” He shook the boy’s helmet then quickly shifted his grip to his arm, the one with the wound, when the elevator stopped.

The younger Mandalorian hissed in pain as the elder one led him out the lift when the doors opened. People waiting to get on gasped in horror at the body on the floor, the blaster scorch marks on the walls, and the two Mandalorians striding out with purpose.

Mando darted down a dark alleyway, then another, turned the corner, then doubled back. All the while dragging the teen with him, who kept mumbling “I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”

“Did you not even ask the details of the bounty you took?” he spat out. “I’m sure even if they gave the least amount of information possible, they’d still state the target is protected by a Mandalorian.” He darted down a few more lesser walked paths parallel to the main thoroughfare.

The boy hung his head. “I...I didn’t ask. Cad Bane approached me. I just...I was happy he noticed me.”

“Took advantage you mean.” Mando looked left and right, then released him and beckoned the kid to join him with the crowded main walkway. He leaned in to whisper in no less a stern tone. “You’re an idiot and young. He knew you’d accept a cut. He got to the top for a reason, and that’s why no one trusts him. You’d have never gotten that bounty. He probably planned on me killing you and that other dumbass.”

“I...I am really sorry.”

“Save it, just tell me if I can find info on floor B421.”

The boy hesitated, then took Mando aside behind a bustling food stand. “The beskar fencer is still here.”

“That old man? I thought he died a while back.”

The teen shook his head, then looked at the display on his gauntlet. “I’ll contact him, let him know we’re coming so he expects two of us.”

“Do it while we walk.” The Mandalorian’s thoughts were fixated on the ad’ika. The Empire remnants likely had hidden outposts on Nar Shaddaa as well. Would Bane take him there, or to his ship? If he were Bane and there was an Empire contact, he would go there first. Mando hoped he was right, they had little time if that were the case, but even less if the bounty hunter left the moon as soon as possible.

The infant’s cries echoed in his memory with every step as he followed the younger Mandalorian, distracted by the gut-wrenching pit of regret weighing on his chest. Again he failed to keep the ad’ika safe. Why did he naively think he was the best fit to protect the Foundling? If anything he was the worst, his ability to disregard an orphan in need for payment from a failed regime also responsible for the purge of the Mandalorians showed his disrespect for The Way. 

He knew it was a mistake to come here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was getting a tad long, so I split it in half. Hopefully I'll get the rest of it up before the next episode airs! Sorry to keep in suspense =p. Hope I wrote Cad Bane as menacing as he should be, despite his age. I'm going with the assumption Duros have a longer lifespan than humans. The dude took down Jedi, so of course an off-guard Mando got his butt whipped. From above, again.


	4. Regret--Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian teams up with some new and some old faces (helmets..?) in order to save his little green dude.

Once again the Mandalorian found himself in a turbo-lift. Antsy and anxious, he could not stand still and paced the perimeter of the small space. Well aware of the younger Mandalorian’s attention on him, he reigned himself in and stopped walking, the weight on his mind no less.

If he was wrong, Cad Bane could be already at the docks and about to fly off into the dark space between the stars of the Outer Rim, headed to who knows where with his--

“He’s gonna collect the bounty before he leaves Nar Shaddaa, if that’s what you’re wondering,” offered the teen, hand clasped to his wounded shoulder. 

The relieved sigh escaped before Mando could prevent it. The young man sagged against the wall of the lift, sweat on his brow, focused on his own pain and issues.

“Are we almost there?” the Mandalorian asked as the lift began to slow its ascent. Keeping the kid from passing out was a secondary motivation.

The boy’s helmet hinted at nothing, but his voice did. “Y-yeah,” he croaked, almost doubled over. Mando moved to his side and hoisted him up by the waist, careful to avoid jostling the teenager’s wound any further. The kid shoved him away, standing as stoic as possible as the turbo-lift doors opened. “Follow me.” He strode out with barely a limp.

Like Nevarro, the most useful shops ended up in the narrowest of alleys. The young Mandalorian gave a series of knocks before promptly passing out against the door frame, helmet clanging against it. 

Said door slid open and Mando barely prevented the teen toppling over head-first into the corridor. “Can I get some help here?” he shouted into the dark hallway. Soon enough, a very short elderly gentleman rushed to them from the other side of the hallway.

“Rand?” he questioned.

“I don’t know his name, he’s gonna need to be patched up,” said the Mandalorian as he bent over to help the teen limp into the bunker. Instead he was shoved away by the boy himself, who staggered upright and likely glared at him through the visor.

The young Mandalorian turned to the old man. “Floor B421? We need to know who’s there. Now.” Mando had to admit he was mildly impressed by the kid’s determination to complete the task at hand. Or maybe he was scared Mando would kill him. Smart boy either way.

“Rand, wait a sec--” the older man cut off as the younger one collpased into a heap at his feet. The Mandalorian crouched at his side.

“What’s there?” pressed the kid. “At least give him a map or something.” He sagged against the Mandalorian’s leg.

“Help me carry him?” The elderly man nodded and they pulled up the young man apparently known as Rand to his feet. It always felt intrusive to glean a Mandalorian’s personal name. The young one tried to shove them off and stagger away, but was too weak.

They made it into the shop Mando had not visited in almost a decade—owned by an excommunicated Mandalorian, yet the tribe still interacted with him due to the sheer amount of beskar he funneled back. He abandoned his helmet, but did not completely abandon The Way.

Another Mandalorian was in the main room when they entered, staring at Mando and the teen. The older man eased the kid into a chair, going into another room to likely fetch first aid supplies. Or avoid impending awkward encounters.

“A-Armorer?” the Mandalorian stuttered, floored to see her there in all her beskar glory, fur-collared cape accentuating her Zabrak helm.

“Dyn?” she voiced at the same time, her tone as surprised as his own. Maybe more so because she used his given name while he was still behind his helmet. He knew hers too—she was like an older sister to him—but he did not dare to utter it aloud.

“Why are you here?” he croaked, unable to shake off how stunned he was to see another of his tribe here, let alone the leader.

She gave a single chuckle. “Why would someone who specializes in smithing beskar for us come to one of the best sources besides the Empire? You tell me.”

The Mandalorian clammed up at her jibe, embarrassed. All day since he landed on this moon he felt helpless, yanked every which way by circumstances he could not avoid. No, he felt this way since he first laid eyes on the little green kid.

As if knowing his thoughts, the Armorer asked, “Where is your ad’ika?”

A flurry of emotions and excuses flooded Mando, making him thankful for his helmet. He looked up at her and was about to vocalize his situation, but she beat him to it.  
“Don’t ever lose him again.” She slung a large disruptor rifle similar to Mando’s over her shoulder, followed by two holstered hand blasters, then strode to the front of the bunker and looked over her shoulder. “I don’t have to do this by myself, do I?”

The Mandalorian ducked his head and scurried behind her.

“Wait...” a voice crackled out behind him, “I can help,” offered the boy who laid in a lump in the corner as the fencer tended to his wound.

Before he could even answer, the Armorer answered for him “You’d hinder more than help us. Stay here, your strength can aid us in other ways.” Her tone was soothing yet scolding, but if Mando knew anything about determined Foundlings, her words washed over the aspiring warrior.

Turning to him, she asked “Why did you pick a fight with Cad Bane?”

“Wasn’t my choice,” he corrected. “The bounty for m—the kid as gotten so big it’s hard to avoid the big names.” He had almost verbally referred to the child as belonging to him; he was slipping up in this pathetic facade to avoid the truth of his situation. Her height and large strides forced him to pick up the pace to avoid any more shame.

She tilted her helmet at him, “It was a risk to take him, but no doubt a risk you’re willing to take.”

He tried to avoid looking like he had taken a blow to the stomach. It was as if she knew the constant uncertainty that lingered in his mind since he stormed the Imperial stronghold for the sake of a crying Foundling. All of his being wanted to respond to her with fervent agreement that he was willing to take on this task. Every time he met the ad’ika’s eyes, it reaffirmed his decision was correct. Tender emotions being so foreign to the Mandalorian, he could hardly voice what motivated him to cherish and protect this little child. Yet he doubted he could do the simplest task of keeping him safe, as his current situation showed.

“We will get him back, I can tell you’re worried,” she observed. “I am sure you received the information about the floor you seek, I did as well.”

Thoughts scattered, he glanced down to the Holonet display and saw the teenager had sent them layout blueprints of the entire floor. Impressed, he studied them further as they entered the turbo-lift. As suspected…

“The Empire.” She finished his line of thought, checking her equipment. Besides the rifle she seemed to have little at her disposal, but Mando knew better than to question her. Likely she somehow had twice the gunpower he did on her person.

“We’ll need to enter from the emergency stairs,” he said upon the realization the elevator had no B421 to choose from. How did Cad Bane enter it from the lift, he wondered.

The Armorer led the way as the doors opened. A wide berth spread before them. The sight of two Mandalorians covered in beskar striding in purpose together to a destination was enough to make anyone step out of the way. Hardly ever did their society tread above ground on bustling metropolis hubs since the Purge, let alone more than one. Again he was attracting too much unwarranted attention to them. The guilt that festered in his gut grew.

Beeping from her left gauntlet interrupted his self-pity. “Stairs are this way.” It was a maintenance hatch closed off to the general public. As he suspected, the Armorer was well-equipped for most situations. She unveiled a computer spike which she slid into the locked door’s control panel. Within seconds it unlocked.

The Mandalorian added data spikes to his mental shopping list, right after the jetpack.

Their footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway as they descended the staircase. Suddenly the Armorer stopped, making him almost slam into her back. One arm held up in a warning for silence, she crouched and beckoned for Mando to do the same.

Despite being light, he could still hear the ascending footsteps of someone nearing them. To the Mandalorian’s surprise and begrudging admiration, the Armorer in one smooth motion unshouldered her rifle and casually leaped over the railing.

Three quick pulses of electricity from her weapon rang out, followed by, “I’ve got him.”

The Mandalorian could not get over the railing and down the stairs fast enough. Right at her feet was Cad Bane, limbs still stiff from the electricity that surged through him.

Wasting no time, Mando grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, slamming him against the wall. The older bounty hunter’s head collided hard with the solid surface, his red eyes fluttering.

“Dyn...” the Armorer warned.

He ignored her. “Where is he?” The fists clenched around Bane’s armor shook with barely contained rage, but he did not care. All that mattered was finding out where his ad’ika was.

“Killing me...”wheezed Cad Bane, “was that part of your brilliant plan?” He held out an identification fob identical to the one Mando used to access the Imperial hideout on Nevarro. 

Harsh but kind, the Armorer pried him off of the bounty hunter. “Patience, we can use him. Pay him off, his only code is to himeslf.”

The aged Duros smirked. “I appreciate your praise of my character. At least one of your kind is somewhat smart.” The Mandalorian could almost feel the other bristle at the off-handed insult. Thankfully she had more self-restraint than himself.

_Isn’t his life payment enough?_ Mando did not dare voice that opinion, instead letting the Armorer lead the conversation.

“I assume like most that can get it, beskar is a preferred income?” From a pouch clasped to her belt she withdrew four ingots of beskar steel. The ones Mando could see lacked any crest of the Empire—even more valuable. And here she was giving it away from the covert.

As if she read his mind, she said, “A Foundling, one of the Mando’ade, is worth more than a full camtono of beskar. This is The Way.”

“This is The Way.”

Cad Bane scoffed at their exchange, stood up, and once again offered the identification fob, other hand extended palm-up in wait. The Mandalorian found it hard to hold back disgust as he watched her deposit the beskar into the bounty hunter’s waiting hand, snatching the device out of his other hand.

Bane pocketed the beskar. “Easy, I’m sure this steel will return to your hands one way or another some day.” He patted the chest pocket he had placed it in. “I’ll even walk you to the entrance.”

The Mandalorian glanced at the Armorer, who nodded and proceeded to follow the Duros mercenary. He followed them.

After a very awkward silence, Cad Bane stated, “This hideout has less than half of the stormtroopers you encountered on Nevarro. With two Mandalorians it should be quick work.” 

Neither of them responded, knowing that no matter what the bounty on Mando’s head would rise to almost equal the child’s. A new covert would take even longer to set up, mostly due to him. Shame filled the Mandalorian.

@@@

An inconspicuous door at the end of the corridor Cad Bane led them down was their goal. Just when they were a few yards away, the door slid open. All of them jumped aside, prepared for a bombardment.

Instead the teenage Mandalorian stumbled out to meet them, one thigh smoking from a blaster shot, an arm clutched around an extremely upset ad’ika who wailed and yelled. Before the younger Mandalorian slumped over, the Armorer hoisted him up while Mando gently took the infant from his grasp. 

Instantly the toddler shifted from hysterical crying to small sobs, coiling up in the crook of his arm and tucking his head into his chest. One hand ghosted over the back of the child’s head, anger rushing through him when he saw a burn mark on the tip of the large ear, a couple drops of blood sprouting from the injury. 

“I...sorry,” the youngest Mandalorian slurred, helm hung low,“ _Aliit...ori’shya tal’din_ ”

Mando shifted the still crying child to one arm and assisted the Armorer with helping the teen to his feet with the other. “You did good, kid.”

“Bane’s gone,” observed the Armorer, peering up the staircase. “That’s to be expected, I guess, can’t turn your back on him.” She shifted her weight and helped haul the surprisingly heavy teenager up the stairs and out into the man thoroughfare. 

The fact the bounty hunter was on the loose made Mando feel uncomfortable. Weaknesses were known, and Cad Bane’s allegiance was only to what benefited him. One week he could aid them, the next fork them over to the Empire or New Republic..

Quiet and calmed down in the safety of the Mandalorian’s hold, the ad’ika reached up and ran his fingertips over the chin of Mando’s helmet, all smiles and coos. Warmth flooded Mando’s veins as he hugged the child to himself with one arm, the other aiding the teen in their slow hike back to the beskar fencer. Many stared, but none of them cared.

For the first time in decades, four Mandalorians together left obscurity and strode forward in solidarity on the surface with each other, a sight almost as rare as one Jedi. The Mandalorian silently relished in this brief moment, in this family tied by bonds thicker than blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cad Bane kinda unceremoniously dipped out, but isn't that what he's good at? Trust me, this isn't the last we'll see of him. I need to re-read some more Cormac McCarthy to step up my "unnamed protagonists" game.
> 
> Who do y'all think was the special appearance at the end of episode 5 last week? Boba Fett? Cad Bane? Giancarlo Esposito's yet to be introduced character?
> 
> As always, thanks for the support. Comments and kudos inspire me so much, and I am always willing for some constructive criticism to better my writing. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much y'all!


	5. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando experiences a roller-coaster of emotions, and baby Yoda learns some vital skills of the Mandalorians.

With each passing day, doubt increased in The Mandalorian’s confidence of his ability to keep the ad’ika safe. Upon shooting the bounty hunter’s ship to pieces, he sank into his chair, glancing back over his shoulder to check on the child. The young one’s ears perked at the attention, unfazed by the turbulence. More calm than Mando, who was still on high-alert. That was too close for comfort, like every time. How much time before the next attempt on their lives?

Sputters from the left engine followed by the entire ship going dark, the Mandalorian fought to get the _Razor Crest_ to where life support systems at least functioned. His suit could supply heat and oxygen for a few hours, but the kid had none of that luxury. 

Finally the ship resurrected, one engine even cranking back to life. Letting out a sigh of relief, he searched the database for the nearest planet.

Tattooine. Of course it would be that backwater (more like backsands) womprat cesspool. That was what he got for choosing to go to Hutt space and Nar Shaddaa. 

Reluctantly he pinged Mos Eisley spaceport as the ad’ika crawled into his lap. The infant curled up against his armor and promptly fell asleep. Fingers absentmindedly tracing the fuzzy head and ears, Mando guided the ship as much as he could with one engine failing and a score of other issues down to the planet’s surface.

Gently he stood to not disturb the child. It would be best if he stayed asleep and on board while the Mandalorian tried to find some work to make credits to restock their again dwindling supplies, especially food. With great care he descended the ladder, and swaddled the ad’ika, who did not stir. Giving him one last glance, he exited the ship

@@@

Panic flooded him upon seeing the pile of empty blankets, thoughts racing. Who took him? Where could he have gone? Did the mechanic know anything? Why the hell did he leave him on the ship? Doubt in his own skills at being a caretaker skyrocketed. Why was he such a failure as a father?

Normally he would have paused at the notion he just thought of himself as a father, but the desperate need to find the ad’ika as fast as possible took over all other musings. He bolted back out of the ship, using all sensors available in his helmet to seek out the presence of anyone. His head swung to the heat presence in the office of the docking bay, honing in on the mess of frizzy hair visible through the window.

“HEY!” he shouted, storming down the ramp and shoving one of the pit droids out of the way with his foot. Inside he saw her start, head snapping up from where she had snoozed on the clock. 

“I’m awake!” she yelped.

The Mandalorian could not care less at the moment if she was lax with the repair process of his ship, that was something he would deal with later. “Where is he?” All the while his eyes darted around for any sign the toddler, wishing for the little tyke to wander into view with a smile and a coo.

He heard him before he saw him—over the months he picked up the skill to zero-in on the various vocalizations of the ad’ika. Relief washed over him at the sound of the child’s sniffles and cries of protest, tension leaving his body in a rush that made his head spin.

The engineer came into view, the ad’ika fidgeting in her arms. She bounced and shushed him. “You woke it up,” she complained, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

The need to take the child in his arms and hold him close was sudden and intense. “Give him to me.”

The baby’s large ears twitched at Mando’s voice, cries quieting as he turned around in her hold to look at him. A gummy grin spread on his features.

“You can’t just leave a child all alone like that!” the mechanic admonished as she rocked the child, “You know you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one.”

He tried not to let her scolding rile him up or guilt him, remaining silent as she continued to explain her progress in the _Razor Crest’s_ repairs. The child’s attention was all on him, and when the Mandalorian looked back at him, the toddler let out a gleeful coo.

A foreign surge of sentiment hitched his breath. After being apart, he fact his presence alone calmed and pleased the child to such a degree caused a sense of pride to well up in Mando. Oddly enough, his mood instantly lifted as well upon the smiles, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Moments of weakness like these made him appreciate his helm even more. He resisted the urge to reach out and playfully ruffle the top of the kid’s head. Mandalorians had an appearance to keep up, anyone could pick up on signs of affection and use it against them.

He wanted to make sure everything was alright with the ad’ika, but he had a schedule to keep and credits to make. Thanking the mechanic, he turned to join Toro. When he mounted the speeder he heard the faintest whine from the child, but he fought to ignore it in front of the other bounty hunter. Likely the moment the newbie joined the Guild he would inevitably discover the truth about the Mandalorian and the asset. 

@@@

When the cocky Toro shoved the barrel of the blaster at the ad’ika’s face, terror and guilt boiled within the Mandalorian, fury fueling them further. The moment the aspiring bounty hunter did that, Mando knew he would kill the trash. Once the blaster moved away from the child he acted.

In one quick motion he activated the flash charge, shoved the mechanic out of harm’s way behind the crates to his side, ducked and dove for the side of the ramp. From this side the bolt was less likely to hit the baby. One shot was all it took to down the cocky bastard.

Frantically he searched for the child, kicking over the body to make sure he had not been crushed beneath it. Small chirrups alerted them to where the child hid behind another crate, big brown eyes wide with fear. While the mechanic took charge of comforting the distressed ad’ika, he pilfered through the corpse, hand closing around the pouch he figured would be there. He pocketed two credits for himself, then turned to the engineer.

Despite annoying him at certain points, he did not want to think of what would have happened if she had not been the mechanic to first lay eyes on the toddler. Not only that, she cared for the infant while repairing his ship. He honestly was a failure at what should be easy. Or at least seemed to come easy to others.

Mando’s hands shook as she passed the child to him, his breathing rapid when it should have stilled by now. Quickly he gave the mechanic the rest of the money and parted ways.

He had to release his hold on the ad’ika if he wanted to efficiently pilot off the planet, but he could not bring himself to place the kid aside. So he held him close with one arm and flew the ship into orbit. He clenched his hand to stop it from trembling, timing his breathing to calm himself.

_I’m terrified_

This type of fear went beyond any concern of his own life—it was over the life of another. Raw and intense horror the likes of which he had never experienced before. No encounter with beasts or brutes rattled him this way.

Claustrophobic in his helmet, he ripped it off and set it aside. He entered in coordinates for a sparse part of the Outer Rim, entered hyperspace, then sat back and looked down at the ad’ika he still hugged to his torso, perhaps a tad too tightly.

He eased his hold and the child looked up at him, ears low, brow furrowed and lips in a tiny frown. One arm reached up at Mando. Unsure what the kid wanted, he lifted him further up his chest. Small clawed fingers hooked around the top of his chestplate, and with surprising strength for one so small the kid pulled himself upwards towards his head. Mando’s hands hovered close behind the climbing infant in case he slipped.

Eye to eye now, the child leaned into his shoulder, wrapped one arm around the back of his neck and huddled close, pressing his face to the side of the Mandalorian’s neck, tucked right under his chin. It took a moment for him to realize the ad’ika was _hugging_ him. Even though he removed his mask around the kid more often, the feel of the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head against his cheek was new. Warmth from the small body soothed his anxiety. The child whined, then after one more worried coo, exhaled and uttered:

“ _Buir..._ ”

Mando froze, eyes widening.

_Did he just--?!_

“ _Buir_ ” whined the child again, voice muffled by the Mandalorian’s neck. 

His heart swelled til he felt it would burst, the cascade of emotions unidentifiable. A lump formed in his throat, and for the first time in years Mando felt tears form in the corners of his eyes he squeezed shut to prevent them from falling. 

“ _Ner ad’ika_ ,” he breathed, folding his arms around the tiny form of his child, body enveloping the little one as the Mandalorian shook with effort to hold in the sob threatening to break through. Not once since he first chose to follow The Way had he expressed emotions to this degree in front of another. Over time he learned how to contain them, isolation a major factor in his stoicism. But these feelings hit like a freight ship in intensity—the instinct to protect and cherish overwhelming normal warrior intuition. As their embrace continued, he wondered who was comforting who.

For a stretch of time they sat there until soft rhythmic snores came from the child, tiny arms loosening their embrace around him. At the same time they exited hyperspace, slowly drifting through space squarely placed at maximum distance from any star system in the area.

He carefully set the child into the copilot seat, too wired from earlier events to rest as well. Turning back to the console, he set about finding their next destination. 

@@@

“We’ve had too many close calls, _ad’ika_ ,” he lectured to the child, who was more busy with the metal ball from the lever than paying attention.

The Mandalorian crouched and removed the slobber-covered ball from him. “Listen to me.” He waited until the kid’s complete attention focused on him. “You can already sneak around because you’re a little womp rat, but you need to learn how to hide better.”

“Mgah!” exclaimed the child, expression comically serious. 

“Good.” Mando held up the shiny ball. The kid reached for it but he withdrew it and placed it in a pocket. Because both woke up and ate less than thirty minutes ago, he procrastinated donning his armor while they coasted through hyperspace en route to Ran’s base. “Now, I’m gonna hide and if you find me, you get to play with this.”

“Mmmgrm...” muttered the toddler, clearly unsatisfied with this deal. The Mandalorian stood, grabbed his gauntlet from the shelf then picked up the displeased tyke, climbing up the ladder and placing him on the floor of the cockpit.

“I know this didn’t work last time, but let’s try again.” He took a deep breath, hoping this whole activity would not be a waste of time. “Stay here, I’ll hide and open the door remotely using this,” he instructed, holding up his gauntlet, “then when it opens you try to find me. Got it?”

All he got back was a coo and head tilt. No telling if the kid even understood half of what he said. “Alright, I’m closing the door now.”

The door slid shut behind him and as quiet as possible he made for the cot area, making sure to open the cockpit door before he closed the door to his bed.

Less than two minutes passed before he heard scratching and tapping at the door. Impressed the child found him in such a short amount of time, he opened the door.

“ _Buir_!” All smiles, the child reached up to him. 

The Mandalorian complied, reached over and picked him up and handed the kid the ball, who let out a gleeful giggle and started to teeth on it. “Good job. When you need to hide, try to get here first. See this?” He pointed at the control panel on the inner wall, pushed the button and the door closed. 

Immediately the ad’ika’s attention snapped to the buttons, his favorite toy forgotten in his fascination with a new thing to fiddle with. He stumbled over Mando’s legs and pushed the button. When the door opened he snickered.

“Good,” said the Mandalorian, moving to get up “now lets try another spo--”

The door slid shut in his face. Laughter rang out from the child as he pressed the button again. 

And again. And again. The child almost doubled over in guffawing.

“Okay okay, stop it.” Among the blankets the Mandalorian found the blue krill toy and the metal ball, showing both to him. Easily distracted, the toddler held out a hand for them.

Mando shook his head. “Not until you find me.” He picked the child up, climbed back up the ladder to the cockpit and shut the door. This time he hid behind the supply crates next to the ‘fresher.

Hardly settled into his hiding spot, from his left the kid’s little voice chimed “ _Buir_!”

“Good job. This is another good place to hide, especially for you since you’re smaller than me.”

The Mandalorian lost track of time as they continued their session of hide and seek, to the point he could actually say he was having fun. Toys long forgotten, the child participated with interest in the activity itself rather than the reward. Eventually the child found him within seconds of the cockpit door opening, as if he knew exactly where he was without seeing him. 

The ship jostled as it left hyperspace, signaling the end of their lesson. “Alright, _ad’ika_. Time to get ready for our stop.”

As he began the process of putting on his armor, he could not shake off the paranoia their next destination was yet another bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir (dad)  
> ner (my)
> 
> Don't really have a strict schedule, sorry I was more routine in uploads before. Battlegrounds just released in WoW Classic so I've been spamming Alterac Valley a lot more than I should.
> 
> Also, how about that sixth episode?! My favorite so far. That one shot of Mando creeping up behind Bill Burr as the lights flickered was AWESOME. And speaking of Bill Burr, his character quickly became enemy no 1 of the entire fanbase by dropping baby Yoda on his freakin' head!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the support, kudos, and comments. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!


	6. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ManDadlorian needs some help, while green bean absorbs everything around him like a sponge, for better or for worse.

Rigorous training became part of a Foundling’s life as soon as they could hold a weapon, or showed any skill in conflict resolution. Caretakers tested their charges daily in skills that led to victory and survival, strength in triumph and preservation.

To the Mandalorian, the tables had turned and he felt like _he_ was the one being tested. For the past two hours since they approached Ran’s planet the ad’ika continued their game of hide-and-seek. Nowhere to be seen, he would pop out from a least expected place. When Mando surveyed his arsenal cupboard the little one popped out with a delightful smile and babbled exclamation. After cleaning and prepping his blasters he went to the refresher to wash his hands, only to be met with an amused child full of giggles.

Ten minutes later when they were about to land, he picked up the child and placed him into the cot room. “You have to stay here until I open this door.” As a test he closed the door, and immediately the kid opened it. Mando sighed. “I didn’t want to do this, I’m sorry.”

Over the indoor panel he fastened via fast-drying sealant a metallic emergency ration food tray. Curious, the ad’ika watched his handiwork imprisonment without knowing what was about to happen. Somehow he felt this would only delay issues rather than solve them, but every second counted. He handed over the toys to busy the toddler, avoiding the confused gaze as he backed up and shut the door.

“I won’t be gone long,” he promised to the closed door, albeit it being hollow. It was for the best, the last few times he let the child have free reign of the ship were way more time than he bargained for. Somehow, he felt this might not be the best decision either. Omera told him this was the struggle of parenting, but this situation was a bit more complex than he revealed to her.

@@@

Mando waited for Qin to climb the ladder to the docks before he followed, not willing to turn his back to the convict. Before the twi’lek finished his ascension, an urgency filled the Mandalorian with an intensity that almost made him double over. 

He fought back a grunt of pain as his vision swam. Instead of blackness, he saw something not before his eyes—from the _Razor Crest_. Less than 2 feet above the mattress, he saw that arrogant defective droid skulking around his his ship, wielding a weapon and pointing it at himself.

Propelled by instinct and something else, the Mandalorian scaled the ladder to the docking bay and shoved Qin out of the way, pumping his limbs into an outright sprint at the open loading ramp of his ship.

The sight of Zero in front of the ad’ika was all the conviction he needed to pull the trigger and blast a hole through that droid’s head. It felt as if his body disassociated from his mind, his point-of-view squarely focused from the child’s perspective and distress. Once he entered the ship normalcy returned, a cursory glance of the little one showed the ad’ika was not physically harmed. He ignored Qin’s goading questions to his actions, making sure to bring the kid up to the cockpit with himself and as far away from that psychopath as possible.

Somehow he felt more than just free will and human instinct guided his actions, something he could not label and yet interwove with the ad’ika. 

A...force beyond crude existence and matter. 

@@@

The Mandalorian placed a hand on the child’s shoulder to steady him as they swerved between the X-Wings, then jumped into hyperspace. Upon the jolt the child yelped and tumbled off the copilot chair, Mando barely catching him before he hit the floor. He was no better than that damn stormtrooper ( _sharpshooter? whatever_ ) he foolishly trusted before.

The carrier he originally found with the child was more handy than he appreciated. There was little he could do now to contain the little ball of energy and curiosity, nor comfort and security to offer. Trying to land on one of the Mid-Rim or Core planets to find a place to purchase a stroller was laughable—even more so as a Mandalorian almost fully equipped in beskar from head to toe.

The mechanic on Tattooine kept coming to the forefront of his mind every time he mulled over someone he could pay to make something of use to them. Reluctantly he headed back to the backwater planet.

A Mos Eisley technician fizzled through. “ _Please land and docking bay_ \--”

“Is bay thirty-five available?”

A brief pause, followed by, “ _affirmed. Please follow docking instructions..._ ”

It took a lot of effort to not dissuade the pit droids’ approach as his ramp opened. Despite the tumultuous events that happened last time he stayed here, the dock seemed unchanged from the weeks prior.

“Back again?” goaded a familiar tone, “how much abuse didya give your poor ship this time?” Peli Motto stormed out from her technician office, arms folded in front of her chest. “Did you get into _another_ dogfight?” Her eyes scrutinized his ship with a judgmental glare, shifting to the open ramp of his ship. “Where is--?”

Before she finished her question, the ad’ika waddled out the doorway, meeting her inquiry with a gleeful croon and toddling the rest of the way as fast as his he could into her arms. 

Mando let them relish in their reunion before clearing his throat and asking, “Can you do me a favor?” 

“Don’t worry!” he clarified at her glare over the child’s fuzzy green ears, “I have plenty of money of different currencies to pay you.”

She relaxed, the child practically climbing up into her hold. “I can patch up that fuel leak again,” she said, moving to his right engine, “but one of these days you’re gonna need a more permanent solution sooner than later.” Shifting the toddler to her other hip, she took out her wireless sensor and hovered it over the still-wafting exhaust. “Looks like there’s--”

“Can you make me a...container?” the Mandalorian interrupted, arms clasped to his side as to not appear more socially inept than he already was. A raised eyebrow from the mechanic made him want to leave this planet immediately. 

“For what?”

Wordlessly he gestured to the infant in her arms. It took her a moment, then she asked, “A _stroller_?” tone incredulous, one hand protectively covering the back of the child’s head.

In his palm he held out the remainder of pouch of credits Ran so graciously gifted him. A third he had used to re-supply the _Razor Crest_ and his armory; the remainder should be enough for her to fulfill his commission and perform some patchwork to his ship. 

“Yes.”

Half a minute passed, then she sighed, snatching the pouch from his outstretched hand. “Give me six hours.” She passed the little one back over to him. Before he could say anything else, she raised a hand “Ah-ah. I remember. No droids. Could’ve taken you 3 hours instead of half a day but you get what you pay for.”

“Can you make the cradle out of...durasteel?” he reluctantly asked as she walked back to her workshop. She whirled around to face him, the baby’s ears flopping in the breeze.

The Mandalorian cowed beneath her incredulous stare.

@@@

The tension between Cara Dune and the Mandalorian was more than enough to encourage a vow of temporary silence between the two warriors as they all settled down for the first time in over a day, rest desperately needed for all of them. 

Kuiil chose to set up a sleeping bag in the corner between his blurrgs and the Mandalorian’s storage containers, leaving the fold-out seats for Cara to make comfortable. As she settled into the rolled-up mattress spread on the chairs, she spread a spare blanket provided to her—the vibrant blue of her secondary home of Sorgan.

The soft wool felt warm in the artificial air of the ship. She had almost drifted off when she heard the soft clunk of Mando’s boots against the ladder. Even in the darkness of the ship’s night settings, she felt the _thing’s_ eyes on her, peering over the beskar-clad hold of the ex-bounty hunter.

Uncomfortable, she regulated her breathing as the Mandalorian removed his chestplate and set it to the side. Between squinted eyes she saw the child in the cot area playing with the stuffed animal she often noticed close to its side on that backwater skughole hideout, attention thankfully distracted from herself.

Mouth suddenly dry she tried to remain as still as possible, she watched through barely opened eyes as he methodically shed his armor and set it to the side. Plenty of times before she had seen him with just his dura-weave body suit on plus the helmet, but being in the same proximity as him shedding the beskar seemed almost intrusive. 

Looking silly with his helmet still on, he crawled into his bed area and the door shut between herself and to her relief, the kid. Unconsciously her hand rubbed her neck. No raw wounds remained, no bruises, only the helpless feeling of life being strangled from her. Despite erratic thoughts, fatigue pulled her into a brief slumber.

@@@

Something freezing cold tickled the corner of her chin, causing Cara to start from her fitful sleep, one hand darting to her blaster beneath the seat cushions. 

“Sssssh...” she heard from her right. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the ship, she saw Kuiil holding out a hand.

With a tentative movement, she removed a metallic round ball from near her neck. Nestled there was also a stuffed gizka, a toy krayt dragon, and an unopened ration bar. Confused, her gaze shifted to a movement of blue to her side.

The small green hellion had somehow escaped the enclosure it shared with Mando. It held up a worn toy Sorgan krill, a bright blue that reflected the scant night-light of the ship’s floors. Ears drooped, it let out a mournful croon and offered the last of its remaining toys to her. Every time she tried to look it in the eyes it shifted its gaze away, as if _guilty_. 

Not knowing quite what to do, she reached out and accepted the offering of peace from the tiny tyke. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing if she spoke any louder she would face the wrath of an irrational and tired Mandalorian.

Satisfied with her response, the child gently removed the metal ball it had given her just before, only to hesitate and then extend it back to her.

She could not help the smile despite her predicament hours prior with this same powerful being. It was just too adorable. “You can keep that one. Thank you for these.” She gestured at the objects that honestly meant nothing to her, but everything to the little one. An apology, as heartfelt as something as naive as itself could give. 

She reached out and ruffled its ears. “You’re forgiven.”

Content, the tiny green toddler toddled not to where the Mandalorian rested, but to Kuiil. With open arms the ugnaught welcomed him, and in hushed tones told ancient tales of laser swords and heroes that lulled the kid and Cara into sleep once more.

@@@

For once the Mandalorian wished fright did not accompany daily awakening. The normal tiny bun of warmth at his side absent, he bolted upwards, fully prepared for the ‘fresher to be overflowing and the kid to be joyfully paddling in a flooding _Razor Crest_. Helmet donned, he ripped the makeshift child security off the panel and pressed the button to open the door.

“Again.” said Kuiil from his right. 

Upon seeing the ship was not drowning in space, Mando gave the room a quick survey. Cara Dune slouched on one of the seats, munching on a ration bar and giving him the glare of someone still in the process of waking up.

_How did she find out where I keep those?_

To his far right he saw the ugnaught tossing the favorite metal ball of the ad’ika high into the air. “Get it!” he urged the child, who waddled up and reached for it as far as his little arms could and whined. Kuiil ignored him and continued to toss the ball up and down just out of reach.

Fed up, the child’s eyes slowly shut and he reached out. Both Mando and Cara tensed.

Kuiil held up a hand at them, methodically tossing the ball again and again in the off-hand. After the third toss, the ball hovered in the air. All of their attentions locked onto the child, who slowly pulled the makeshift toy across the room and into awaiting palms.

Not wasting a second, the wise ugnaught demanded, “Now, pass it back to me.”

The ball barely hovered in the kid’s tiny green palms before it spun in the air then whizzed back at Kuiil. Without flinching he sat up straight as it hovered in the air less than a foot from his face. Frowning, the child’s arms slumped and the control knob clattered to the floor in front of the being’s crossed legs. 

The understanding blurrg handler rolled the ball back to the ad’ika. “One more time.”

Eyes squinting shut, the tiny child extended a clawed hand and slowly levitated the shiny bit of metal ship part. Slow but steady, it floated towards Kuiil and gently settled in his outstretched hand.

“Nicely done,” praised the ugnaught, finally diverting his attention to the Mandalorian. “Just so you know, I had to prevent the little one from making a mess of the nice stack of your beskar.”

Cara snorted as Mando sheepishly withdrew back into his cot room with his armor, sliding just out of view as IG-11 approached with an offering of fresh tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I was not ready for episode seven, these character interactions are my coping mechanism til the final episode
> 
> Wishing everyone a great holiday and happy new year! 
> 
> Thank you again for all the positive responses and reviews, it keeps me going!


	7. Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The green bean becomes picky with his food, his dad struggles with one of the most monumental and daunting tasks in the universe, and IG-11 does as much as he can in the company of a paranoid Mandalorian.

As soon as the wrapper crinkled, the child’s face screwed into a pathetic whine. The Mandalorian ignored him, easily able to discern the difference between fake and legitimate crying from the infant. Months before, the mischievous ad’ika played him for a fool many time, baiting Mando’s attention when it felt neglected. 

Besides, he knew the reason for the kid’s outburst and it was something he could not fix. “It’s ration bars or nothing, go hungry if you don’t want it.” He broke it into small bite-sized chunks onto a plate, then passed it to ad’ika who as expected turned his nose up at it. Ears pinned, the child got up from the crate-turned-table and stormed off to the cot room, picking up his toy gizka with little enthusiasm. 

Since the night before the toddler had been in an awful mood, amplified by yet another nightmare. They had been on almost a month of uninterrupted sleep until last night. Where the child was standoffish with the Mandalorian, he clung to Kuiil, round eyes filled with sorrow. The ugnaught complied without complaint and entertained the kid while the Mandalorian made the final preparations to their gear.

The unease of the child spread to the Mandalorian like a head cold. For a few hours he staved off worry by busying himself with prepping his weapons, checking and rechecking to the point he realized he was procrastinating more than prepping. The anxiety became hard to ignore, ever present.

When the ad’ika refused the ration, he fell back into his old habit to keep occupied and turned to the weapon’s cabinet, searching for some speck of carbon scoring, something to occupy his hands.

“Before you finally choose to enter those coordinates for Nevarro,” pointed out Kuiil, “we should make sure we are fully stocked on supplies besides weapons.” 

The Mandalorian gave a pointed stare, returned in equal parts by the ugnaught. The latter hurumfed, then leaned over to search through his backpack, withdrawing a small wrapped piece of what Mando guessed to be candy of some sort. The child let out a delighted squeal, climbed down from the cot and waddled to Kuiil, who proceeded to repeat his “lesson” with the kid.

“Why do you keep doing that?” chimed in Cara. She took one bite from the ration bar in her hand, grimaced, and set it aside. The Mandalorian could swear he heard her mutter, “No wonder the kid keeps giving me these.”

Kuiil tossed the candy in the air once more and it froze, then floated to the ad’ika. “Target practice.” Before either warrior could question him he continued. “You both practice and hone the skills and muscles you have.” He nodded to the toddler who munched on the piece of fruit candy, garbled gleeful sounds escaping around the food. “So does he.” 

“Fine. Fair enough.” The Mandalorian let out a frustrated sigh. “If we come out of hyperspace now we should exit near Lothal and only be a short jump away from Nevarro.”

“Even more backwater than Sorgan,” grumbled Cara. She stood and stretched, then glared at Mando. “Well? Get your ass in that cockpit. I’m cranky too and need some real food.”

He sighed again, yet climbed up the ladder. “Back on Sorgan you got sick of _real food_ , especially krill,” he teased as he ascended to pilot the ship.

The open ration bar she threw at him only breezed by the edge of his cape.

@@@

Despite Empire presence being long gone from Lothal, the stares from passers-by on the street made the back of Mando’s neck prickle. They did make an odd group, his beskar and the child’s large green ears likely attracting the most attention. Especially since the child was extremely restless. 

Just a few dozen yards from the _Razor Crest_ they had to abandon the pram, due to the ad’ika repeatedly escaping it and running as fast as its little legs could carry towards the steppes in the distance. When they returned to the ship, IG-11 offered to watch over the little one. Of course the Mandalorian spat out a refusal and demanded it guard the ship.

Kuiil resorted to trying to carry the infant in the sling, but the little demon kicked him in the stomach and clawed at him to get down and run off in a singular direction to the wilderness. Therefore the Mandalorian carried him, his beskar a better barrier to the writhing tyke. 

“Stop it!” he barked at the kid as it almost dropped from his grasp. He lifted him up to eye-level. “What is wrong with you?”

The child’s ears drooped as it stilled and it let out a frightened coo. Guilt flooded the Mandalorian at the toddler’s crestfallen expression, instantly regretting yelling at him.

“S-sorry.” He briefly hugged the child to his chest, pointedly ignoring Cara’s smirk. 

Finally they encountered a cantina, blessedly mostly empty. He knew he should wait until food actually arrived to distract the ad’ika before placing him in the high chair the confused bartender brought to the table, unable to look away from the odd sight of a Manalorian bouncing a green baby on his knee while browsing the holo-menu. 

Soon enough the food arrived and Mando set the child down on his high chair, not touching his own food and requesting it to be packaged to take out. Kuiil and Cara hesitated before taking a bite of their food, but he nodded and they obliged. Years ago he moved beyond feeling awkward in communal dining situations. This enabled him to be more alert while others could let their guard down. 

He glanced to see the ad’ika’s progress on his meal, settling on an empty seat and a clean plate. The motion of him bolting upright jostled the table. 

“Where is he?” he choked, bending over to look beneath the table. Nothing. The heat sensors in his helmet revealed nothing as well. Clawed footprints faded as soon as he tracked them, desperately stumbling between customers outside. He was too late, the heat for him to track long-gone or intermingled with other lifeforms. 

Cara laid a hand on his shoulder he promptly shoved off. “Look everywhere. He’s so small, he can’t have gotten far.” 

Everywhere the three of them searched, practically every building and road in the impossibly small town. No sign of the ad’ika. The Mandalorian could feel his breathing accelerate in panic again, and fought to keep it level. 

“Let’s split up, head three ways then meet up at the _Razor Crest_ ,” he offered in a hollow voice, not bothering to halt and see if they agreed as he head off in what seemed to be an aimless direction.

For seven hours he wandered through the wilderness and barriers of the ancient Lothal ruins, checking in with Cara and Kuiil way more than necessary. Cries of Loth wolves in the distance made his heart race in terror, mind running wild with what situations his son could have gotten into. 

“ _Vaii cuyir gar, ad’ika_?….Please...”

Towards the end of his futile search he did not restrain his plaintive calls for the child. A desperate and pleading mixture of Mando’a and Basic tumbled from tired lips as he realized the stupidity of his situation. With all the tools at his disposal, trying to scour hectares of territory for a small being that could not possibly make it this far was folly and a waste of time.

Fumbling fingers pressed the display on his gauntlet. “Cara?...” he hopefully inquired.

“No luck here.”

As if knowing he would contact him, Kuiil immediately pinged him as well with a “I am sorry, Mandalorian.”

“Alright, I’m going back to the ship, the two of you meet me there.” He fought to keep his voice steady and without worry, knowing he failed.

About one mile away from the _Crest_ he broke into a brisk jog, feeling something tug him forward. He blamed it on primitive parental instinct, but did not try to subdue it. It felt similar to the time he felt outside of his body and from the point of view of his ad’ika facing down the droid. Warrior reflexes normally drove his physical actions, but he felt disassociated. Despite this he let himself pick up the pace to an outright sprint. 

Once within range of his ship, he repeatedly tapped the button on his wrist to open it, breath coming in harshly from his run. The sight that met him as the ramp lowered made his blood run cold.

In the battle-droids arms the child playfully squirmed, chewing on whatever the robot served him on a spoon. Upon the appearance of the Mandalorian, he let out a cheerful chirrup and reached out a hand, a bit of whatever it was eating dribbling down its chin.

 _Where did he get actual food? Did he bring it back with him?_ He pushed back his bafflement for more pressing matters.

“Put. Him. Down.” He raised his blaster to aim straight at the central cortex of the IG unit, glad the kid could not see the uncontrolled ferocity he wore on his face.

To his surprise the droid immediately complied and lowered the infant to the ground. The toddler grinned and shuffled to Mando, embracing his shin. “ _Buir!”_

Immediately he picked him up, tucked him to one side and turned him away from the robot now approaching them, aiming his blaster once more.

“The baby is now done with its food,” it announced. “I have also removed and replaced its soiled undergarments and retrieved it after you lost it. Please do not lose it again.”

“Where was he?” growled the Mandalorian, trying to place as much of his body as he could between his ad’ika and the droid. The infant let out an uncertain gurgle. 

“Religious ruins. It is now time for the child to be bathed, it has been too long since his last cleaning. It is also past its normal time for sleep cycle.” 

“Religious—what?” The fact the droid rattled off all the information in quick succession threw him off. “And absolutely not, I will get him...er...ready for sleep. You stay as far away as possible or I’ll blast you.”

“As long as the child is healthy and safe, my function is fulfilled.”

The Mandalorian watched, baffled as the battle droid proceeded to wash the few dishes he owned that he tossed into the sink the previous day. Shaking his head, he contacted his other companions to let them know he found the child. Both his companions sighed in relief over the vocoder when he informed them he found the little one.

The two hours it took for both Cara and Kuiil to return were the most tense and bizarre of his life so far.

@@@

After he was sure the droid was distracted by menial tasks he eased into the common area of the ship, still not feeling secure enough to set the child down.

“It just ate.” IG-11 announced, making him start, hand darting to his holster. “I think it will need a change in less than an hour. The prerogative would be to bathe him first and change him into sanitary new clothing. I am almost finished with my task of cleaning this sink for your use.”

Previously Mando struggled with stuffing the unwilling child into the ‘fresher, one of his least favorite parenting tasks since acquiring his charge. His ad’ika hated the routine as well. It never crossed his mind to use the tiny kitchenette sink, likely due to it being filled by used cutlery. And beskar from time to time.

Abruptly IG-11 stood upright and turned from the sink. “My current objective is complete. You may proceed with yours as I inspect the ship for child safety hazards.” With that he walked away to the ladder, but Mando intercepted him, aiming his blaster once more. 

“Don’t you dare go into my cockpit, or touch anything in it.” 

To his surprise IG-11 complied, moving aside the blankets covering Cara’s makeshift bed of chairs and sitting down in the seat closest to the sink. It’s red eyes stared at his every movement as he went through his regular clumsy routine of tending to the child, made even more difficult with the constant scrutiny. How could he feel judgment radiating from a hunk of metal?

Awkwardly he juggled taking the garb off the child whilst turning the tap on with his other hand. As usual the ad’ika had zero desire to comply, trying his best to wriggle out of the Mandalorian’s grasp, finally succeeding despite discarding his robes. It took longer than Mando expected to catch the fleeing toddler, who looked a lot smaller without his normal robes, clothed only in a diaper, and making his father look foolish in his stooped run as he chased the ad’ika around the _Crest_.

When he finally wrangled the kid, he turned back to the sink, only to see the IG unit standing at it, one finger stuck under the faucet. 

As his hand flew to the gun at his belt, the droid said, “The water was at 49 degrees Celsius. Too hot for the child’s base temperature of 38.6 degrees Celsius.”

His hand paused as he watched IG-11 delicately adjust the knob for the heat supplied to the water of the ship. It stuck its finger under the stream again, then turned back to him. “The temperature is now satisfactory and safe.” It held its arms in a gesture the Mandalorian knew asked for the child. 

Said child cooed and reached out for the droid, but he brought him back to his chest, making sure his gauntlets covered most of the tiny form he held. He turned to his side, shoulder and back a shield against IG-11’s waiting arms.

“I’ll do it,” he growled, side-stepping to the filling sink, To his relief, the IG unit backed off and returned to its original seated position. Turning off the water, he steeled himself for the task ahead and lowered the child towards the water. 

“ _Nayc!_ ” protested the ad’ika, clawing at the Mandalorian’s chestplate. “ _Nayc! Buir!_ ”

Beneath his mask, Mando gave a grim smile at the child’s second ever uttered word, but stood firm in his efforts to somehow wash the dirt and grime off the protesting tyke. 

It took almost the entirety of the two hours before Cara and Kuiil returned before he claimed victory in his combat, the now-clean little one fast asleep in his arms. 

The Mandalorian was thankful Cara did not bother to taunt him as he bounced the sleeping ad’ika in his arms, murmuring soft words of Mando’a, whispering the lullaby rhyme of the _Resol’nare_ into the darkness of the night cycle of the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaii cuyir gar (Where are you)  
> Nayc (No)
> 
> For clarification, baby Yoda wandered off towards the Jedi temple ruins on Lothal, called to it by a familiar certain Jedi Master who also appeared to Ezra Bridger there ^_^
> 
> Sorry for the length between chapters, enjoying the holiday season and eagerly awaited the season finale of this show before I wrote more. It was AWESOME! I have so many ideas and outlines for future chapters right now, plenty more to come and already in progress.
> 
> Some continuity error in this fic, but let's just say Regret Part 1 and 2 take place after episode 8 [I'll change it eventually], and that Din Djarin was how I was supposed to spell it all along, and that he wasn't referencing the familial loophole when he informed IG-11 "No living thing has seen my face since I took the Creed." 
> 
> As always, thank y'all so much for your comments, kudos, and support in general. It is so appreciated!


	8. Blue--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see the adventures of ManDadlorian and his small son from another point of view, and pesky newcomers hitch a ride on the Razor Crest.

Hunkered in his pod, the child held his ears close to his head, the blaster fire ringing in his skull. His mind was assaulted with flashes of fear from his current owners before their presence disappeared. Eventually the gunfire ceased, he awaited with baited breath as a new presence approached his confines. 

This one was different from any other he encountered or remembered in his life. The light emanating from the figure he could not see yet shone brilliantly. With a hiss the doors to his creche sprung open to reveal two figures. Both shined and reflected in the sunlight streaming through the doorway, covered in steel. He lowered the blanket covering him to get a better look, unable to rip his gaze from the figure on the right, curiosity transforming into astonished recognition.

For weeks this same helmeted, mysterious form appeared in the child’s restless dreams. These dreams felt different from others, they felt real, and were always the same. 

_Always his hand reached out for a shiny boot of the man in front of him, the other hand reaching up to the helm that looked down on him from an imposing height. The figure radiated the same brilliance in presence, crouching and picking up the child. Under the child’s hands the chest and shoulders were cool hard metal, but the one who held him was impossibly gentle, arms wrapped around him, a gloved hand cupping the back of his head._

_Over the shoulder, the child saw two other people—always the same—watching them leave, then after a low roar of fuel, the one who held him lifted off into the air. Despite the height and the ground rapidly disappearing behind him, the man’s grasp around him was solid. In his arms, the child felt warmth never given to him before by any other being, He felt safe, the sensation of feeling protected a first for him in his life._

_Just the night before he had the dream too, soothing him after weeks of nightmares plagued by darkness he had no concept or understanding of, all the while surrounded by individuals with viscous, dark auras that made the child’s skin crawl._

Now here he was in the metal-flesh, no face and no expression. But the little one could feel its presence in the Force as strong and solid as he felt in the dreams. The urge to brush his new caretaker’s mind was hard to restrain, but remembering what happened the last time he tried to ease himself by touching a guardian’s mind--he got a knot on the side of his head that ached for days—he stopped.

But this one might be different. He would wait and see.

@@@

Groggy from all the needles, eyes puffy from crying until he could shed no more tears, it took a lot of effort to open them. Wrapped back in his warm blankets, he felt one arm holding him tight to a smooth, durable surface. Sight still blurry from the anesthetic pulling him back to sleep, he reached into the Force to inspect his surroundings. His use of it came at instinct, he did not even know what the Force was, but for one as helpless as long as he was, it enabled his survival.

Instantly he locked on the presence surrounding him, both physical and within the living Force. It was _him_! He came back for him! 

Prior to their parting he had sensed trepidation roiling from across the room as the man in the white coat took him out of the room. Now, he felt resolve and steady light emitting from his returned guardian, wrapping him in a net of safety.

Unable to fight the sedatives any longer, the child slipped back into slumber.

The next time he opened his eyes, the helmet loomed over him, his guardian hunched over him in a protective posture. Sadness and frustration rolled off the armored man so strong the child did not have to reach out to feel them. Big ears swaddled, the blaster fire raining overhead was muffled but combined with the tension coming from the beskar-clad warrior, the child buried further into his blankets.

More rocket and blaster fire rang out, followed by a complete change in the atmosphere surrounding his armored protector. Relief, plus something foreign. 

Being swapped from person to person planet to planet, no one bothered to sit and teach him a language. He had passed through so many hands that all the languages jumbled together to the point he could not learn it. But he understood intent. One word, one theme rang out from the thoughts of his new caretaker as fighting echoed around them:

_Aliit_.

The sentiment surrounding this thought was more tender than he ever felt from his stoic guardian, it must be important. Words he did not recognize were verbally exchanged between the helmed man and someone he could not see. Suddenly the world tilted as he was quickly picked up, clutched to the man’s chest as he sprinted away.

As they crossed the threshold of a ship, the environment of the craft filled the child with another new concept he could not quite understand, but he did understand the warmth and comfort despite the sterility of recycled air and old creaking metal.

He had a home.

@@@

The child loved all the blue colors in this new place—it was everywhere. The people wore it, the animals all gleamed azure in the bright sun and in the water, it was all over the place.

Most of all, he loved to play. It was hard to play games cooped up in a tiny pod with no toys. He also had others to play with, others whose innocence burned bright in the Force, as his own naivety did. Despite not technically being his age, he knew they were different from the bigger humans, from his father. 

After a few weeks of constant companionship with the Mandalorian, the child’s mind tried to compartmentalize all the brand new strange things he saw and felt. The simplest thing of all he could classify is that this towering warrior was definitely a person who took care of him, who kept the bad things of his nightmares away, whose voice soothed him to sleep instead of the silence he had grown used to for fifty years. 

His guardian, his parent, his father. Although he could not voice it, he knew this to be so. 

The child stood in the barn, watching Winta as she begged her mother to go catch fireflies at sunset. He had no idea what she meant, but from her animated actions and the excitement flooding off her, he knew it would be fun. Letting out an encouraging coo, he walked as fast as he could to Mando’s figure, trying to show him as best as he could that he wanted to join her. 

Trepidation leaked from his dad despite the stoic posture. “I’m not sure if--”

“The children do this all the time, and the raiders are gone...right?”

Behind the child doubt flooded the barn—he did not need to turn to know the source was from the fighter his father found on this new planet. Yet Cara Dune said nothing, just stood in the doorway.

The joy from Winta was apparent to everyone in the building. “Let’s go!” She held out her hand to the child and he gladly took it, grateful to enjoy more fun. His friend stooped to keep a grasp on his hand, keeping to his height as they shuffled past the krill ponds and towards the forest. 

Large pupils enabled him to peer into the darkness, and he saw the florescent blue flecks floating in the air before Winta did. With a jovial chuckle, he ran as fast as he could towards the fireflies less than fifty yards away. They were full of life, full of the Force.

“Hold on!” she called after him. “We need this jar!”

The child barely understood the words he heard, but knew her intent. He stopped and watched as she whipped out a clear container from the pouch slung around her waist. The small supply sack she held was like the one his father used. Was it the same one? 

They neared the border of the woods, where the blue lights fluttered throughout the air. For some reason he avoided trying to summon them to his hand, instead just jumping up in the air and trying to capture them and pass them to her. He beat her in the amount they stuffed into the clear jar. It illuminated in a brilliant blue that caused him to squint his eyes.

In front of his gaze, the jar was swiped away. He followed the jar and saw it fracture as it collided with a tree trunk and fractured to pieces. Confused, he turned and saw the scrunched-up face of a straggling raider.

_Danger_! his thoughts screamed as Winta shoved him behind her, bending down to pick up a small rock. 

“G-go away!” she demanded, standing tall and firm, fist clenching the stone she picked up. Another raider stumbled out from the brush, grin on his face and alcohol on his breath.

For the first time, the child sought out his father’s mind without hesitation. _Danger! Danger! Danger! Help! Help! Help!_

He did not voice the concept in an audible language, but the instant he brushed the warrior’s mind he knew he succeeded. Across their bond he felt the Mandalorian cease his conversation with Winta’s mother and bolt out the door. Far in the distance, beskar reflected the fading light of dusk as the children’s rescuer sprinted to them. 

One of the raiders reached out for the toddler in curiosity, but Winta was quicker. A stone clunked on the Klatooinian’s forehead and he stumbled back, growled, then stormed forward and yanked her up by the wrist. She cried out, the other raider approached to restrain her kicking legs.

Seeing his friend in such peril distressed the child. On instinct he reached out through the Force, feeling the air around him and around the second Klatooinian. With a raised hand he _shoved_ and the raider flew through the air, dozens of yards all the way to the bank of the pond on the outer edges of the village. Far away from Winta.

Despite the wave of exhaustion, he turned to battle the one his best friend struggled with, but the Mandalorian got there first. One delicately placed blaster shot exited out the forehead of the raider, chipping the bark of the tree behind the child. The Klatooinian crumpled to the ground almost falling directly on the little girl, but his father swept her out of the way just in time.

Sobbing, she clung to him as he dashed to the toddler and gently gathered him into his hold as well. “Where’s the other one?” She pointed to where the second raider laid motionless on the edge of the pond, then shrank back into the safety of the beskar grasp. 

The Mandalorian shifted her to his back as he approached the body, saying “Hold on to my shoulders, keep your head down.” Silently she obliged, crying restrained to sniffles. The child fought to remain conscious as his father’s arm tightened around him, the other arm extended and blaster aimed at the straggler raider. 

Through squinted eyes and around the gauntlets holding him, the child saw the still body’s neck was twisted the wrong way, eyes glazed over and vacant.

The Mandalorian relaxed and holstered his blaster, stepped far away from the gruesome sight, then knelt to the ground. “You can let go now, Winta,” he said, tone soft even through the helmet. With his free hand he carefully pried her fingers from where they clenched to his pauldrons.

“Winta?!”

The toddler recognized the voice of his friend’s mother, but the sheer panic as she called for her daughter was foreign to him. Normally a steady presence of comfort in the Force, her emotions caused the steadfast aura to change into a tumultuous one. Through bleary, tired eyes he saw the woman sprinting at them. 

“She’s okay, we’re okay,” his father said. Winta’s sobs returned as she sprinted to Omera and jumped into the comfort of a relieved mother’s arms.

“I knew there’d be stragglers, didn’t think they’d come this close to the village.” Mando muttered. The child felt a gloved finger brush his forehead and one of his ears, not helping his war against impending sleep. “Right now Cara’s patrolling the opposite perimeter of the village where they attacked from before, I should have--”

The Mandalorian cut off as Omera collided with him, one arm wrapped around Winta and the other around his back. “Thank you,” she breathed into his chest, just above the child’s head. Winta’s crying subsided, glued to her mother’s hip. Relishing in what he came to know as _aliit_ , the child surrendered to the slumber he desperately needed as the four of them shared an embrace.

@@@

If the child thought Sorgan was filled with blue, he was not prepared for the endless expanse of it on the ocean-covered world of Manaan. As far as the eye could see past the platformed city, waves crested and broke. He watched with wonder from his makeshift cot while his father haggled with a Selkath medical supplies dealer. It was not as comfortable as his first one, but at least he was not trapped in it all the time.

While the deal-making became more heated above him due to the fish humanoid not understanding much Basic at all, the toddler was content to watch the water.

Suddenly his pram jostled from weight on the edge. In front of him a pair of eyes on top of a wide mouth peered at him with interest, warbling once. When the Mandalorian whipped his head to the side, it jumped into the cot beside the toddler, but out of sight of a cursory glance from the paranoid warrior. The child’s father went back to his negotiations, joined by a second Selkath who proceeded to translate. Badly. 

The little animal nuzzled the child on his arm. It was like a frog, but too large to eat and way more friendly than other amphibians. Again the cot shook and two more of the animals peeped into the cot, then climbed in until they found their companion. The three of them squirmed around and played beneath the mess of blankets. Delighted by his new friends, laughter bubbled from the child and he remained amused until Mando completed his purchases.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he bent over the cradle. Beside the child the animals stilled, hidden beneath the blankets. He wanted to tell his father he made new friends, but still could not find the right words and still hesitated to brush minds with anyone, even someone he now trusted. 

“Well, I’m glad someone’s having a good day,” grumbled the Mandalorian. “Come on, let’s get back to the _Crest_.

To the child’s immense joy, the animals stayed with him the whole way back to the ship, and boarded with them. When the Mandalorian turned to focus on the controls in the cockpit, one by one the creatures quietly jumped from their hiding space and immediately headed for the bowels of the craft. 

Not one to be left out of any fun, the toddler promptly climbed out of his pram and followed right along with pleased babbles. Behind him, his father gave a warning to be careful going down the ladder, but he did not need to. The child perfected climbing it weeks ago.

For hours the child and the animals played together, him giving chase and them chasing him. One really liked to fetch the metal ball he loved to play with. This was even more fun with others!

When his father’s boot came down the first rung of the ladder, they scattered into various hiding places. No! He wanted to play more. His ears drooped.

“Sounds like you’ve been having fun down--” The Mandalorian broke off then knelt next to the child. “Hey, _ad’ika_ , what’s wrong?” Concern came off him as he reached out to touch the toddler.

The cranky little one snubbed Mando’s offer of affection, turning a cold shoulder to him. Every time his father came near, his new friends ran away. The fact he fought sleep with all his might did not help things.

“I guess you’re more than ready for some sleep,” observed his father, ignoring his feeble exhausted protests as he lifted him up and carried him to the cot, where he fell asleep before Mando draped a blanket over him.

For a week the child fell into a hidden routine of playing with the animals, who somehow managed to avoid the warrior’s movements around the ship. The child could not count yet, but for some reason it seemed like over the week he got even more of them to play with him, some of them smaller and more clumsy on their too-long legs.

Eventually one slipped up and skittered in the path of the Mandalorian as he exited the fresher. “The hell was that?”

The child watched with great amusement as his completely naked father chased the animal down. The creature barely escaped his grasp and wriggled into the tiny gap between the chairs and the weapons cabinet, out of reach of his father.

“Gizka! _Haar’chak_!” he cursed as he slammed his fist into the storage locker. After a few more minutes of trying to move things around to get to the animal, the Mandalorian let out a frustrated sigh and stood up, running a hand over his face. 

The child understood, he got frustrated too when he lost a game of tag with them. He toddled to his father, reaching out a hand of comfort on his bare leg. At the skin-to-skin contact Mando jumped and looked down at his body, as if just now he realized he had been chasing a small animal around the confines of his ship whilst nude. He gently nudged the child aside with his foot and hastily donned his undergarments and undersuit. 

“So that’s what you’ve been so busy with down here while I’m in the cockpit,” he mused, arms crossed as he stared down the child with a frown. 

Confused at the displeasure radiating from his guardian, the toddler tilted his head and cooed. At the sound his father’s malcontent washed away. 

The Mandalorian pinched the bridge of his nose, then squatted down to get closer to the child’s level, placing a large hand on the impossibly tiny shoulder. “Look we’re gonna have to get rid of them before they take over the whole ship. That was a tiny gizka, so I guess they already are reproducing.”

The infant hardly understood the words, but he got the message via their bond—his new friends had to go. Like on Sorgan. It was always this way. Always keep moving.

As if sensing his distress, two baby gizka hopped out from hiding and tentatively approached them. To the child’s shock, his father’s hand snaked out and snatched one before it could jump away. His intent was very clear and instantly picked up by the child. Indifferent somewhat, but most of all he intended to kill.

Immediately the child let out a piercing wail, all pretenses gone as he slammed into his father’s mind. _No! No!No! Friend! Friend! Please!_

The Mandalorian gasped at the contact and released the squealing young gizka, who barely had time to stand before another, much larger gizka leaped out of hiding and jumped in front of it. It swayed aggressively, snarls coming from it the child never heard before. Mouth open, it bared the tiny rows of teeth and hissed, all of its fury directed at Mando.

“That’s your _ad’ika_ , I guess,” he said to the animal in a strained voice. The child perked at the familiar term used around him a lot, especially in private. 

His father must have picked up on his piqued interest. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he pointed to the small gizka cowering behind its protective parent. Then he shifted to point at the larger one, who snapped at the extended finger but did not bite. “ _Buir_.” He gestured at the other infant gizka, said “ _Ad’ika._ , then rested the finger square in the center of the child’s chest. “ _Ad’ika_ he repeated once more.

So that is what he called him. That one stable word that he murmured at night to ward off the nightmarish visions. But then what was the word that defined the Mandalorian? Was it the word he said when he pointed at the bigger gizka?

Unable to voice his question, the toddler instead mimicked his father’s gesture, extending a pointer finger to rest at the center of Mando’s chest, looking up with a questioning stare and hoping his father would understand his inquiry. 

Under his finger he felt the warrior’s heartbeat increase alongside a sharp intake of air. “ _B-Buir_ ,” the normally stoic man stammered out, large warm hand coming to rest on the child’s own. 

Satisfied with the answer, the infant leaned into his chest and took the rare opportunity to snuggle up to soft clothing rather than hard beskar. Around them on the floor hopped a dozen gizka, still giving the Mandalorian a wide berth.

It took them two days to lure all the gizka into a makeshift trap Mando designed with spare bits and netting around the ship. Eventually all seventeen were rounded up together.

At their next stop after more aggressive negotiating, credits were exchanged and the gizka caged. As they were wheeled away by the unfortunate soul who purchased them, the littlest one let out a mournful warble, attention focused on the child.

Even animals felt fear, had presence in the Force, and could affect others in tune with it. Sadness filled the child to a degree he had not felt since he left Winta and everyone else behind on Sorgan. Tears fell silently; he did not want his father to see him crying. 

His attempt was an utter failure. The Mandalorian shifted his hold on the child to hug him closer. “I know, I’m sorry. But they’ll eat the wiring of the ship. The scrap yard is a good place for them, they’ll be happier.” His tone was soothing but the words did not help cheer up the morose toddler.

“If we come back here, I’ll bring you to see them,” he said. Through their bond, the child felt the earnest truth behind the promise. Comforted somewhat, he settled down as they returned to the _Razor Crest_ to set out once more on their journeys across the galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aliit (family/clan)  
> Haar'chak (Dammit)
> 
> Sorry for the inconsistent updates, I'll try to do it once a week. It took way more effort than I thought it would to write from the POV of a fifty year old baby. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the awesome response and kudos! Hope everyone's 2020 is going well!


	9. Blue--Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little one confronts the pain of grief for the first time in his life, PTSD, and physical pain. Mando attempts to understand this weird little thing called The Force and the bond it created between him and the child. The green bean is a helluva lot better at that though.
> 
> Warning: Some sadness coming up and injured toddlers with trauma issues, so be forewarned. Incoming excessive Mando'a, translations at the end. Don't worry, they're short terms :D

_Over and over again, the child saw the ugnaught’s grim expression as he clasped him to his chest. One unlucky blaster shot later and he tumbled to the ground, unable to move in his swaddled blue blankets. The normally calm, soothing presence of Kuiil in the Force suddenly snuffed out of existence. The ground disappeared as a rough hand snatched him up--_

With a gasp, the toddler startled awake, large pupils not enough to see in the darkness of what passed as a bedroom on the ship. Panicked at the lack of senses and the unyielding _need_ to see Kuiil, he screamed out into the dark.

“W-wha--?” slurred the Mandalorian, jolted awake by the child’s sudden outburst. Likely just as blind as the little one, one arm darted out in attempt to restrain the frightened, flailing toddler, the other smacking around for the light switch. Even more startled by the sudden hindered movement, the infant _pushed_ out on all sides by instinct.

The air around them stilled for a millisecond, then a wave of energy slammed outwards from the tiny form in all directions. His father’s hold released as Mando flew backwards, ramming hard against the door to the bunk area, shoulder colliding with the panel. Other objects like blankets, toys, and flew around in the explosion of Force around the terrified Force-sensitive. After accidentally hitting the panel, the door slid open.

The surprise and alarm that flooded from his _buir_ upon the door opening only increased his terror and confusion. Unable to gather his bearings in the lack of light and tumbling around, fear spiked when the Mandalorian reached for him again, large hand awkwardly splayed across the child’s face. Through the Force, he lashed out to get the hand off his nose and eyes. His father flew back again, skidding across the floor.

It might have been a bit excessive, but he could not control it. He needed to check and see the ugnaught, reaching out once more in the Force for Kuiil as shed beskar armor flew off the shelves above the cot and clattered across the floor of the ship, including the precious helmet. The blaster the Mandalorian kept within reach of him as he slept joined the armor, the collision with the ground depressing the safety and going off with two stray bolts as it bounced to rest near the ‘fresher.

“The fuck?!” Cara cursed, tossing blankets aside as she jumped awake to the gunfire.

On the other side of the cramped ship, the three blurrg’s bucked and called out in distressed tone, rocking the ship somewhat, making all the objects the child had pushed from the cot area roll further away.

“ _Ad’ika!_ his father’s unmodulated voice hissed from the ground as he scrambled to find purchase and his helmet.

The former shocktrooper called out again. “What the hell just happened?”

“The kid, he—m-my helmet...”

As soon as the crying child locked on to the ugnaght’s presence in the Force, Kuiil stated, “I have your helmet, Mandalorian. Do not worry, I am holding it out with my eyes closed, and blurrgs have poor night vision.”

Upon hearing him, the toddler sobbed and leaped from the bed, stumbling for the steady _light_ emitting from the Force surrounding the mechanic. Like a pleasant blue of a still lake.

A bare set of toes stumped into the upset child’s back as his father tripped over him in their race to get to Kuiil, a muttered curse coming from above his head. In turn the kid fell over, nose smacking to the ground with a painful sting that caused him to cry in physical pain as well. 

His foot caught on the hem of his robes as he struggled to stand; he would have fell and smacked his head into the corner of the wall had the broad, sleeved arm of his father not swept him into the air. However, the child’s focus and desire to be held was not directed to the Mandalorian. Tears streamed down his face as he wailed and flailed, pushing against his _buir’s_ chest to try and jump down as Mando bent over to accept the helmet from Kuiil’s extended hand. Quickly the Mandalorian shoved on his helm as he juggled the distressed toddler.

When the ugnaught’s hand was free, the child took advantage of his father’s clumsy one-armed hold around his waist and slithered free, tumbling to the floor as he reached out for Kuiil’s still extended hand. “Kid!” Mando cried out, the spike of fear shoving into the child’s mind like it did when he took that spill out of the bad man’s arms to the floor a few weeks prior. The kid mentally pushed back and easily wiped away the over-stimulation of his father’s emotions, the ugnaught catching him before he hit the ground.

As fast as he could he scrambled into Kuiil’s lap and grasped his tunic, pressing his face into the mechanic’s chest. Without hesitation Kuiil brought one arm around the trembling toddler, the other reaching out to pet at the closest blurrg, whispering soothing tones to both. 

Eyes screwed shut as someone flipped on lighting, the child burrowed deeper, feeling like this would be the last time he felt wrapped in the wise ugnaught’s reassuring existence in the Force. No, he _knew_ this would be one of the last times. It was more than a dream, more than a memory. 

It felt identical to the dreams the child had about his father before meeting him—it felt like something that already happened, already cemented in a reality. He did not understand why he felt so sure, he just did. The voice of the Force told truth and certainty. 

The overwhelming sense of impending loss and doom overpowered the little one, death and loss of a loved one strange and devastating to him. Countless times he experienced a being in the Force suddenly disappearing, but never one he came to care for. The infant had no idea what death entailed.

“ _Ad’ika_ ,” his father murmured from close by, voice filtered through the helmet once more, “ _Me’bana?_ ” The child felt the sudden touch of the Mandalorian’s still bare fingers to the top of his head and flinched. 

The sensory overload of his lingering trauma, the bright lights above, the concern radiating from his parent like a tangible heat, the low rumbles of the blurrgs, the small clunks of metal as Cara bent to pick up the mess of beskar scattered on the floor, and the relentless pressure of the Force’s warnings almost suffocating—he could not help but recoil from the additional input of his father’s gentle fingertips brushing the wisps of hairs on the back of his head and buried his face as much as he could to Kuiil’s torso.

“I think all of the commotion and a nightmare is too much right now for the little one,” observed the ugnaught, shifting his hold to a looser one on the toddler. “I will tend to him while we try to settle down before tomorrow. We have a long day in store for us. Keep the ship lighting on low rather than off, it might soothe the child.”

The torridity of worry from his _buir’s_ mind changed to chilly sadness, followed by a twinge of emotion so uncharacteristic for the Mandalorian, the child did not recognize jealousy for what it was.

But the warrior crouched in front of them and tried again. “ _Udesiir_ ,” he whispered. This time the child did not shy away when Mando’s hand once more caressed the ridge of one of his ears. The little one fought to focus on the hold of the ugnaught and the language sacred to his father to tune out other stimuli. “ _Gar cuyir morut'yc_...” Finally his father reluctantly withdrew and joined Cara to gather up the rest of the mess the child made in his panic.

After he cried out all his tears to the point Kuiil’s shirt was soaked and silence returned to the _Crest_ , he turned away from his chest and squinted to the rest of the ship, breath still in short gasps and snuffling. The lights had been dimmed once more, Cara snoring at an unflattering volume from her makeshift bed. Beneath him he felt the steady heartbeat and breathing of the now asleep ugnaught. By now the blurrgs had calmed and fell back to sleep as well.

The entire _Razor Crest_ slept, except for two of its crowded occupants. 

The Mandalorian sat on the end of the cot, posture slumped and elbows on his knees, helmet turned and watching the child and Kuiil. In his hands he absentmindedly grasped something the kid could not see. The toddler did not need to see his father’s face to sense the uncertainty churning within him, their bond within the Force riddled with suppressed feelings from Mando underneath it all his unfamiliar envy. The child was unsure if his _buir_ felt his thoughts as the toddler did his parent’s, sometimes it seemed he did, but most of the time did not.

Most of all he sensed hesitation from his father once the warrior noticed the toddler’s attention was on him. 

To the child’s surprise, he felt the tentative _touch_ of another mind—his _father’s_ \--to his own. The grasp at his thoughts was clumsy, halting, like a blind man searching for a small tool.

_Ad’ika..._? It was more of a plea than anything else. In the low light he saw the blue of his favorite krill to in the fidgeting hands of his guardian.

Carefully the child slipped out from the arm Kuiil draped over him, reluctant to leave the proximity of the ugnaught’s aura, something he knew he might never feel again in the Force. But his father’s anguish was the most present, intensified by their bond.

The Mandalorian stilled, shoulders tense and visor blocking his expression as the toddler waddled to him. When he neared, his father offered the stuffed krill he fiddled with. A glutton for attention from anyone that could provide that night, the child ignored the toy and reached up, letting out a small whine. “ _Buir..._ ” his lower lip quivered as tears threatened to spill over again.

A rush of relief flooded their connection as Mando leaned over and lifted him up, pulling him against his chest and sliding back to lean against the far inside wall. With a foot his _buir_ tapped the controls to shut the door, then removed his helmet and set it back on the shelf.

Scared of having the premonition once again, the child whimpered and rubbed his eyes as if he could physically press away fatigue. Immediately he felt the unsure yet comforting brush of his father’s mind against his own.

_Udesiir, ad’ika. Sleep...I’m here, Kuiil is here...Gar cuyir morut’yc._

At the thought of the ugnaught the child felt his features screw up and silently began to cry again, hiding his face from his father’s gaze as he pushed away from his grasp. Through the bond the little one could not hide his intense dread for their impending arrival to Nevarro.

It did not work. “Hey hey, it’s okay.” His father’s warm hand stroked the child’s back, but still let him stand on his stomach as he regarded the trembling boy in the dimmed light. “I can...feel?...that you are really scared about tomorrow.” He shifted his gaze to the ceiling above and sighed as his fingers drew patterns on the infant’s tiny back. “I am too, ad’ika.” The comforting touch of their minds and his solid, protective hands caused the sniffles of the child to die down. As much as he tried to fight sleep, the stubborn toddler’s eyelids drooped.

The Mandalorian continued to murmur tiny reassurances to the both of them, fading from Basic and into Mando’a, a steady hum that rumbled beneath the child’s tummy as he laid down on his father’s chest.

For the remainder of the night, the child slept in peace surrounded by the solid presence of his _buir_ in the Force. Unbeknownst to the little one, the Mandalorian did not join him in slumber, successful at hiding from his son the building anxiety within him of what tomorrow would bring .

@@@

When the Mandalorian’s arms tightened around the child as they descended to the ground, the kid flinched and let out a small raspy cough. Adrenaline spent, the pain of the little one’s torso, ribs, upper arm, and abdomen returned. At the noise his father’s helmet jerked and he readjusted his hold.

Pressure lessened on the child’s injuries, he relaxed once more as his dad’s feet touched the ground, jetpack switching off. Relieved to be near the ship once more, the child turned to look at their destination.

Except with a sharp intake of breath, Mando pushed the infant’s head into his shoulder. “Don’t look.” He angled his body and side-stepped the last few yards to the ship. Once inside he placed the child carefully on the cot. “Please stay inside here until I come to get you, don’t come look outside,” he implored, turning back around to hastily exit the ship.

Too sore to disobey right away, the child picked up his blue krill and suckled on it as he watched his father exit. Eventually the sorrow and guilt emanating from the Mandalorian via their connection was harder to ignore than his bruises and contusions, so the toddler hugged his toy to himself and slowly walked to the edge of the ramp to peer around the corner.

Grunting with effort, his father stacked sizable stones on top of each other in a neat, half-finished pile. Something was beneath the rocks. Why was his _buir_ playing a game right now—he did not seem to be having much fun stacking rocks? In fact he seemed the opposite, subdued, sad, and out of breath.

Mando did not notice the child walk down the ramp to approach him, to assist. The child saw a rock similar in size to the others, raised a hand, and _lifted_ it into the air and guided to in front of the beskar-clad warrior to settle on top of the pile. 

His father whirled around. “Don’t come closer yet, stay--”

The child ignored him, not feeling much strength behind the warning as usual, and approached. 

The Mandalorian’s body and the stones obscured most of what was beneath them, but not enough. The Foundling recognized instantly the face of Kuiil, buried from the diaphragm down under rocks, eyes closed as if asleep. Confused, the child reached out through the Force as he neared, seeking the comforting presence of the ugnaught present even in slumber.

Nothing, he was there but was not there. He could see him, why could he not feel him any more than he could feel the rocks the Mandalorian covered his body with?

Bewildered, the child came to his father’s side and placed a clawed hand on his knee and stared at Kuiil, then looked up to the unreadable visor of Mando’s helmet.

More guilt and grief flowed over their bond as his father picked him up into the crook of one arm. “He’s gone, _ad’ika_ , and it’s all my fault.” Helm tilted to the sky, the Mandalorian fell silent for a few moments. 

Finally he moved once more, reaching into a small pouch on his belt and withdrawing a tiny screw. “This is all of IG I could find, Kuiil.” Carefully he lifted one of the ugnaught’s clasped hands and gently placed the screw underneath them. Then he stood and walked to the collapsed body of the blurrg a short distance away. 

He searched the creature’s bridle and after finding what he was looking for, he removed the vibroblade from his boot and carefully cut off the headband of the bridle on the animal. For a moment he looked at it and so did the child. Faint text was etched into it, hand-carved into the leather.

The Mandalorian returned to the body of Kuill and repeated the same action he did with the screw, then lowered the infant to the ground. “You’re good at lifting rocks, it seems. Help me finish? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” With that his father set back to the task of searching for stones.

As the ugnaught’s body slowly disappeared from view, the child regarded the toy krill still in his hold. Never again would Kuiil tell stories using his toys as pieces to enhance his tales and entertain him. Never again would he challenge the child’s skills in wielding the Force, especially levitating this toy and the ball. Never again would he look at the toddler without the trepidation and sometimes fear other beings did when the little one used his powers around them.

“ _Nayc!”_ cried out the child as the Mandalorian went to finish covering Kuiil’s upper body, running forward.

“What are you--” his father began to ask. 

With a mournful croon, the child laid his worn bright blue krill across the ugnaught, trying to lift one of his hands with his own but failing..

To increase his frustration, his father bent over and removed the toy. “You don’t have to do that.”

“ _Nayc! Nayc!"_ Unable to communicate this is what he wanted to do, the child began to cry in earnest. 

Immediately his father replaced the item and gently clasped Kuiil’s hands over all three objects. Together father and son shared the process of grief by slowly burying their friend until the burial mound was finished. Taking a particularly flat stone, the Mandalorian knelt on the ground, removed the etching cauterizer from his belt, and began to etch something on the rock.

Not able to read yet, the child sat back and watched until his father completed his task, seeming as satisfied with his work as one could be in a solemn moment. Patterns the child did not recognize graced the rock in surprisingly decent handwriting from the warrior:

_Here lies the great Kuiil, who has spoken his last._

The Mandalorian picked up the infant and with his other hand, placed the etched slate at the head of the grave, and laid one more rock down before turning around to return to the _Razor Crest_. 

@@@

When stars changed to starlines as they entered hyperspace, the child teethed on the beskar mythosaur emblem draped around his neck, keeping his injured arm tucked beneath the frayed sleeve of his robe, subdued and hurting more as some of his injuries swelled as time passed.

“Time for some food,” said his father, turning in his seat. “I have things other than ration bars of you want.”

In too much mental and physical pain to eat, the child pinned his ears and let out a tired coo, not even having the strength to make eye contact with the Mandalorian. Twice he coughed, winced, then continued to chew on the amulet.

In a flash Mando stood and hovered next to the chair. “What’s wrong?”

“ _Buir…_ ” he fussed, dropping the sigil and reaching out with his unhurt arm to the man.

“You’ve got some ashes on your face and some dirt too.” The Mandalorian wiped at his cheek. “Maybe you’ll feel better after a bath?”

Not fully understanding the source of the child’s distress, his father leaned over and picked him up by his sides. At the contact with his ribs, the little one yelped and squirmed, trying to climb up the beskar-covered forearm to avoid contact with most of his abdomen. 

“Alright alright, don’t fall,” his father said as he awkwardly carried the infant down the ladder. He placed the child on a crate by the kitchenette sink, removed his gloves, and began to fill it with water, periodically sticking a finger beneath the stream to check the temperature until it was appropriate. 

Turning back to the child, he sighed. “Now, I know you don’t like this, but it has to be done.” The toddler offered zero protest as his dad began to remove his robes. “That’s weird, normally you’d be running around by this poi--”

His father’s bare hands stilled after he pulled the clothing off the child’s shoulders, letting the material drop forgotten to the floor. The child looked down at his bare torso as well, to the myriad of bruises and welts scattered all over. One particular bad one covered most of his side, swelling obvious.

Hand trembling, his father gently palpated the area and traced the borders of the injury. The toddler cried out and flinched from the contact.

“This bruise came from a fist,” his father said as his fingers ran over the knuckle marks. “A fist...” he repeated, tone changing from shock to a low growl in less than a second. Swiftly his _buir_ examined the rest of his injuries, gravitating to the shoulder sprain and bruising on his upper arm from when the child tumbled to the ground after Kuiil was shot.

Mando stepped back, body practically vibrating. Rage unlike any the child felt before roiled within the man, spilling over as fists clenched at his side. At the anger in their connection, the child let out a soft whimper and the enraged father jumped, as if remembering where he was.

Voice strained as he battled to soften it, the Mandalorian said, “We’ll wash you off first, then fix you right up.” Instead of lifting the toddler under his arms, he interwove his fingers to make a makeshift basket. “Sit here, I’ll pick you up like this to not hurt you.” The child obliged and sat in his hands, and his father lifted him up and placed him in the sink.

The warm water soothed his aching tiny body. While he soaked he watched his father storm to an overhead compartment and yank it open, removing a red box and setting it down on the storage crate beside the sink. “Thank stars we stocked up the kit on Manaan,” he muttered, rifling through the medical supplies within before finding what he needed and setting it outside the container.

He turned back to the child and proceeded to bathe him, the toddler not giving his usual protests and struggles as his father rinsed him off, one large hand covering the floppy ears as he poured water over his head.

Bath complete, the child remained seated in the sink as the bathwater slowly drained away around him, not wiling to move much. Paper rustled as his father tore into the package of a bacta patch. It was barely enough to wrap around the Mandalorian’s forearm, but the toddler was so small it could cover his entire injured side.

When his father gently lifted his injured arm to apply the patch to the ribs beneath it, the child wailed. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’ll feel worse before it feels better.” With tenderness seemingly impossible for such a battle-scarred warrior, Mando tugged the arm in a different direction that did not hurt half as much, and applied the bacta patch to his side.

“I can still move your arm around. Limited range of motion, but not broken,” he muttered as he gently rotated and extended the child’s small arm in different directions. “Sprained and bruised...still pretty swollen, shoulder joint inflamed...”

He dropped his arm and turned back to the med-kit, coming back this time with a small blue vial and something the child could not see in his hands “You’re like five pounds at most, gonna have to cut the dosage by a tenth.” From his hands he revealed a syringe and packaged needle he unwrapped, placed on the end of the syringe, and poked it into the bottle, drawing up a tiny bit of blue liquid.

All the child could focus on was the needle. At once memories of being poked and prodded for most of his life came flooding back with a wave of intense fear.

“ _Nayc!”_ he yelled, aches and pains temporarily forgotten as he clawed at the still slippery sides of the sink, trying to escape.

Placing aside the syringe, the Mandalorian tried to restrain him. “ _Gev, ad’ika_! Most kids don’t like needles, I still don’t. But we gotta get that swelling down and this is the only way we can for now.” 

To the child’s extreme dismay, his father picked up the syringe again. “ _NAYC_!” Through their bond in the Force he crashed into Mando’s mind, flashing snapshots of memories and trauma over decades, back to even before Empire rule. Images of being held down and even struck as medical instruments poked and prodded at him surged between their connection.

His father gasped, the syringe clattered to the floor, and the man sagged against the sink, trying to use both hands to brace himself up. Breath coming in ragged, he said. “ _G-gev! Gedet’ye gev!_ ”

Not able to stop the cascade of awful memories, the child kept his unrelenting tight hold on his father’s mind, concluding with the final traumatic memory of being carted away from the Mandalorian when he was traded for beskar steel. At that shared memory, Mando slumped to the ground and ripped off his helmet, throwing it aside and grabbing his head with his hands, knuckles white as he clenched at his hair as if he could squeeze the presence of the child’s terror from his mind.

“I’m sorry,” his father croaked. Through their bond the child sensed the Mandalorian now understood very well why the child responded the way he did to the needle. He also sensed the warrior apologized for more than just trying to stick him with a needle for some reason.

Exhausted from the long events of the day and his outburst, the child withdrew from his father’s thoughts and slumped back in the sink, still panting from fright. Both of them sat there for a while, the Mandalorian in a heap on the floor and the child leaning back against the cold metal of the sink as both struggled to regulate their breathing and emotions. 

At last Mando pulled himself to his feet, reaching out to wipe the tears from the child’s eyes. “I’m sorry...for everything. I didn’t know...” At the soft touch the child quieted and calmed, eyelids starting to droop.

Yet when his father bent over to fetch the syringe, his eyes snapped back open and he started to whine. Mando held up a hand. “I know, but your shoulder and upper arm are going to hurt worse tomorrow. One little sting and this” he held up the syringe and the child balked “will help you.”

This time his dad reached out through their connection in the Force, fumbling but trying. 

_Stops the hurt. Will only poke once. No more hurt. I won’t hurt you._

The earnest emotion gave the child pause. Would it really help his pain? There was no one else he trusted more in the galaxy than the man standing before him, and if he could not trust him he would be alone again. He did not want to be alone. Being lonely was more painful than any of his injuries, any needles.

With great hesitation, the toddler leaned forward and offered out his injured arm as far as he could without it hurting. The Mandalorian lightly took his hand and lowered the needle close to the shoulder. “Alright, _ad’ika: solus, t’ad, ehn._ ”

When the needle pricked his skin and sank to the swollen joint, the child bawled, but did not tear his arm away as his father depressed the syringe as fast as possible, then eased out the needle and set it aside and swept the fussing child into his arms.

“Good job, you did great!” he praised as he bounced around the upset tyke, somehow avoiding pressing the contusions that covered the child and hugging him close. “ _Ner kotep ad’ika. Gar cuyir bid kotep..._ ” The Mando’a soothed the child almost instantly—he was glad his ordeal was over.

After a few more moments, the Mandalorian set the child back on the storage crate and finished doctoring him up, swathing bacta gel on some bruises and bandaging up others. Clean and mostly fixed up, the child extended his injured arm and moved it around. There was very little, if any pain no matter how he moved it, the heat of swelling diminished to match the temperature of the rest of his delicate skin.

His eyes widened as he peered up at his father, who wore a bemused expression, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Told ya. C’mon, let’s eat.”

At the latter statement the child grinned and cooed in excitement, the trauma they shared of the prior day diminished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me’bana? (What’s happened?)  
> Udesiir (Relax/calm down)  
> Gar cuyir morut'yc (you are safe)  
> Nayc (no)  
> Gev (stop)  
> Gedet’ye (please)  
> Solus, t’ad, ehn (one, two, three)  
> Ner kotep ad’ika (my brave little one)  
> Gar cuyir bid kotep (you are so brave)
> 
> Thanks for all the support y'all, keeps me going! This is gonna be the last chapter from the kid's point of view for a bit, I have some other chapters outlined for some events taking place after the season finale, so we're gonna switch back to Din's POV. I have had a lot of fun at the challenge of writing this little one, it's been a treat. Sorry for the depressing chapter, but a galaxy far, far away isn't full of sunshine and rainbows all the time.
> 
> BTW if y'all are jones-ing for some Mandalorian-esq content, I HIGHLY recommend this new anime series called Somali and the Forest Spirit. It's about a golem [aka forest guardian] who stumbles upon a human in his forest. Humans are rare and almost extinct and other beings like to eat them, so he takes on the task of adopting her, protecting her, and journeying with her to find other humans he can leave her with. He claims to not have emotion but we all know what happens to those types of characters. Anyway, his task is pretty much identical to the one the Armorer gave Din in the season finale of Mandalorian with baby Yoda. It is wholesome and cute and she calls him Dad and hnng the feels. So if you want a substitute while we wait for season 2 I recommend it.


	10. Guilt--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A paranoid Mandalorian avoids his problems to the point he creates one. History of the ones who Found him creep out of the woodwork to bite back at him decades after their transgressions. Despite what he thinks, there is still a future for his covert. And the green bean has a new favorite word, a word loved by all toddlers across the multiverse. 
> 
> First of a three-part tale.

For two standard weeks Din bounced between different systems across the Outer Rim, both he and the child recovering from their injuries sustained over Nevarro. Most of the bacta went to the little one, and within ten standard cycles had completely recovered. Din had mostly recovered, though his wrist still twinged from when Moff Gideon’s TIE fighter yanked him around the air via his grapple wire. That had been a risky move, but worth it.

He told himself the reason he refused to land yet was to throw the Imps off his trail, but he knew deep down that was part of why he did it. The other reason made him uncomfortable.

Din was aimless—he had no idea what to do or where to go to complete his rather vague objective. Not even where to start on his journey to find the people of his son. 

_Maybe I don’t want to find them_...

Behind him, the _ad’ika_ let out a sulky coo. He turned to look at the pouting child, who looked at him with lowered ears and shrewd eyes. For the past two cycles they had nothing but ration bars, and it had been the longest the young one had gone without being on a planet’s surface. As the child healed he became more restless, cantankerous. 

The bantha in the room hung heaviest on Din’s mind: the _Razor Crest_ was essentially running on fumes. 

One more hyperspace jump was out of the question, and the only planet within distance that had a few developed settlements and one of the smallest ports he had ever seen (just one docking bay that did not show up on official channels) was the frigid Carlac. He did not know how the kid would handle cold weather; likely not well. Thankfully he had an emergency heat blanket, and four small heating pads. Normally he used them for his hands and feet, but they were more than a suitable size to keep the child in his blankets and sash. 

Once again the carrier had been destroyed, and in the rush of Moff Gideon’s TIE bombardment the satchel IG-11 carried the infant in was lost. Due to his reluctance to land, he had not had the chance to figure out something else other than the sash carrier Omera gave them.

Reluctantly he punched in the coordinates for Carlac. The ship clattered a bit more than usual—he’ll need maintenance but he doubted he would find it on this planet. According to navigation they would be within distance to ping the spaceport in less than one hour. Hopefully it would be enough time to prepare for the surface. The ad’ika had been very uncooperative the past few cycles, and wrapping him up in layers would be a daunting challenge.

Din sighed, gritted his teeth behind his helmet, and stood to face the child. “Time to finally land and walk around for a--”

“ _Nayc_.”

Oh yes, the kid’s new favorite word. It was pretty much the only thing he said over the past forty-eight hours. This was going to be fun.

Ignoring the repeated _nayc_ s and other babbles of malcontent, Din reached into the seat and picked up the child, having to practically pin him to the front of his cuirass as he tried to wriggle out of his grasp. With more effort than it should have taken, he descended into into the cargo hold. 

With one arm—he was getting good at doing many things one-armed these days—he searched through his storage cabinets for the scant cold climate supplies he carried. The beskar was his shield against most environments, the kid did not have that luxury. 

Yet.

The absurd image of the child clad in a tiny set of beskar flashed in his mind, big ears sticking out from holes in a tiny helmet. Din snorted in amusement at the thought.

“Gooyaa?” The child had stilled, looking up at Din with a curious gaze. On the edges of his thoughts, the Mandalorian felt what he could only describe as the toddler’s _presence_. More and more he felt this being and him shared something greater than a bond between parent and child, something more ethereal. 

The kid handled whatever was happening with ease, but most of the time it put the Mandalorian on edge. As someone used to living alone with his own thoughts in his head, the connection between them and the knowledge not all his thoughts are his own to keep sometimes made his skin crawl. Being out of his element with sudden parenthood he discovered was a task he could handle. But this was uncharted territory, and unlike parental advice there was no one in this galaxy he could turn to for advice on this matter.

At least recently the child hesitates before barreling right into his thoughts, as if asking permission. That was a start.

Taking advantage of the temporarily stilled tyke, he placed him on the cot and took the soft wool blue blanket from Omera and wrapped him in it first. He followed up with his own rough wool blanket, followed finally by the crinkly emergency blanket.

“Mmghf...” The child pinned his ears, only his eyes and nose visible, forehead even more wrinkled than normal. 

Din chuckled at the sight and reached in the blankets and drew out the innermost blue blanket to form a makeshift hood to cover the child’s head and ears. He could feel the child try to squirm around, but the tight wraps of cloth around him prevented to much movement.

Just in time, the cockpit pinged the five minute proximity warning. The Mandalorian took the heating pads in his hands and crimped them one by one to activate them. He then evenly spaced them between the first and second layer of blankets in a circle around the child, who was getting more and more ornery by the second. 

Din ruffled his head. “We are almost there, just hold on for a bit.” Confident the kid wouldn’t be able to weasel out of the cocoon before he could land the ship, he hurried back up to the cockpit.

When he came within range to ring up the lonely spaceport, it took a good three minutes to get a response. The technician sounded surprised at the appearance of a ship wanting to land, even more than the locals of Sorgan. Codes were exchanged and he was given permission to land in Docking Bay 1. 

The _Crest_ shook as it landed, giving a mechanical groan as he switched off the engines. Poor thing, he’d need to get her some repairs as soon as they refueled and resupplied. 

Din went down into the cargo hold and breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the bundle exactly where he left it, huffing little cries of dismay coming from it as he approached. “We’re here. Trust me, you’re gonna appreciate being bundled up as soon as I open that door.”

The child being a bit more bulky made wrapping him up in the sling more difficult than normal, but he managed. As he did on Nar Shaddaa, he draped his cloak over the child. He turned to his weapons locker, trying to decide what to bring. The pulse rifle was out of the question, it would attract too much attention. His vambraces carried enough crowd control if they got in a bind…

Why was it every time he walked off the ship with the kid, he felt the need to prepare as if he were going into battle?

Finishing up his selection of weapons and equipment checks, he pressed the button on the side of the door to lower the ramp.

Before it even lowered, he could hear an irritated voice ranting. “Took you long enough, was wondering what the hell you were doing in there so lo--”

The irate Bothan cut off at the sight of Din, fur rippling in the species’ classic sign of agitation or emotion. “I certainly was not expecting a Mandalorian to come to Carlac.”

“I wasn’t expecting a Bothan mechanic,” retorted Din. Normally most Bothans stuck to politics and scheming in the New Republic Core Worlds.

“Engineer,” he corrected, then tilted his head. “This is the second time in one planetary orbit I have seen Mandalorians foolishly land here.”

Whatever Din expected the Bothan to say, it was not that. The air left his body like he had been punched in the diaphragm. Most of all he locked onto the plural _Mandalorians_. At the edge of his mind he felt the child’s concern, but lacked the strength to push him away. Thankfully the kid hovered instead of completely invading his thoughts. 

“When did they come?” He could not help but stride forward to stand directly in front of the engineer, but the shorter humanoid did not flinch or look away, fur stilling. 

The Bothan scratched its chin in thought, then said, “About five standard months ago.”

Once again Din felt like he took a physical blow. Five standard months ago was the day he stampeded the Imperial bunker to rescue his Foundling. They fled here because of him. Ripped from the covert and thrown into unknown territory, all due to his rash instincts. 

“When did they leave?” He felt as if he was not going to like the answer.

Fur undulating, the Bothan replied, “None of them returned. Their ship was scrapped and vandalized by the locals when I had to move it outside for another ship to land.”

“Scrapped? Why?”

The serious gaze from the engineer made him uneasy; the child fidgeted at his back and let out a barely audible coo. “You had best remove that helmet, or at least wear a cloak on this planet.”

“Why?” He was losing patience with the vague warnings.

The Bothan tilted his head again in that annoying, patronizing way. “You do not know the history of Mandalorians and Carlac? Of Deathwatch?”

The casual name drop of the organization Din’s _buir_ belonged to and trained him in made him visibly start, something he did not want to do in front of a stranger. Ever present at the back of his mind, he felt his distress mirrored in the child. He rested his hand on the sling to reassure and keep the little one from making more noise that would draw unnecessary attention. 

“No, I am not aware,” he admitted, but decided to leave his father out of it. 

“It was back during the Clone Wars, the scarce locals who survived their onslaught don’t shut up about it.” The Bothan looked him over. “So you’d best hide that beskar. They might have been peaceful once, but now...”

Din’s ears rang at the implications the mechanic made. Memories of the _Kyr’tsad_ flooded him all at once. Soft arms cradling him as he awoke from terrifying nightmares, the delicious spicy foods, and most of all his adoptive father’s stern yet sometimes soothing voice without the vocoder of his helmet as he patched him up after yet another fight with Paz. 

The child squirmed on his back, but thankfully did not make much noise. Yet again at the edge of his thoughts, the Mandalorian felt his presence—but it was tender, tentative, and concerned. 

_I’ll be okay_. He tried to project his thoughts as he walked down the ramp and brushed past the Bothan.

“How many Mandalorians?” he inquired as he pressed the buttons to close the ramp of his ship. Din knew the answer to his question would displease him no matter what, but he asked anyway.

The Bothan paused. “Hard to say.”

“What?”

“There were two adults covered in beskar like yourself,” he stated, then continued, “And three younglings who couldn’t be older than fifteen cycles. One wore a helmet, the other two did not.”

Din’s stomach dropped at the statement. Of all things, he did not expect Foundlings to become part of this scenario of him just trying to refuel on a rural planet. Let alone the recent history of his people becoming a main factor.

He wrestled the hood of his cape from under his pauldrons and threw it over his helm, then wrapped his cape as far as he could in front of him and used one weapon clasp from his belt to attach the fabric and cover his armor as best as he could.

The Bothan’s fur waved. “I can still see your shiny armor, but it is snowing at the moment so you might pull it off. “

Din grumbled and stalked off, annoyed by the engineer’s patronizing tone. The sooner he got fuel and supplies, the better. But there was also the issue of Mandalorians. His tribe could still be out there in this cold world, younglings could still be hanging on with no one to care for them. 

And it was all his fault.

“Forgot to tell you,” the Bothan called at his retreating back, “my cousin has a shop in town full of odds and ends. You might cannot find fresh food, but he has a lot of other things you would want or need. His name is Dask Vo’ruh and his shop is called ‘Dask General Goods’. Tell him Trath sent you, maybe you’ll get a discount.” His fur pulsated once, then stilled.

Din gave a curt nod, then strode out of the small hanger bay. Wind blasted them as the port bay doors slid open, snow blowing practically sideways. He felt the child shrink against his back, shifting deeper into his wrappings and letting out a small whine. The noise sounded more than just in discomfort from the chill. Always at the edges of his thoughts, he felt something resembling concern from the little one.

“I know, _ad’ika_.” Din reached through the clasped cloak and patted the top of the child’s head. “They are _Mando’ade_ , we’ll try to find them.”

To his ears his voice sounded hollow. More than likely all of them were dead, including the children. But he had to keep hope.

After a few minutes they made it to the outskirts of the village. The snow had let up, but according to the sensors in his helmet it was still bitterly cold. Despite this, the central hub of the small village was full of activity. Most were humans, but he caught a glimpse of a Twi’lek and surprisingly, a Wookiee towering above everyone.

Snow crunched under his boots as he entered the center of the village, towards a bazaar obviously the source of the small crowd. He hunched over to hide the T-visor helm and shine of his armor, already feeling the stares. Normally he was used to being stared at—a Mandalorian was a rare sight indeed. However, the eyes on him seemed full of suspicion and outright anger.

Brushing it off, he approached a stand steaming with smoke from various grilled meats. The child cooed and fidgeted in excitement behind him.

“Excuse me,” said Din to the back of the man cooking the food, “can I purchase some?”

The owner turned around to address him, but a deep frown crossed his features. “Fifty credits for a skewer.” He sneered, peering at the reflective helm peeking out from beneath the hood.

Taken aback, Din tilted his head. “Excuse me?” He must have heard them wrong, any of the meat skewers would be worth maybe three credits at the most.

“Take it or leave it, _Mandalorian_.” Malice poured from his mouth with the last word. The man turned back around to flip the food, ending the conversation then and there.

So much for hiding his appearance. People manning the neighboring food stalls also glared at him upon the cook’s utterance, turning away as he left the first stall and sought out others. Via body language alone, Din could tell the Bothan was not lying about the native human populous’ bone to pick with Mandalorians. 

What did his prior clan do here? What sin did they commit? What could cause such lasting animosity between the local population and the people who raised him? Even the child had stilled and shrank as far as he could into the sling—Din had a feeling it had less to do with the cold weather and more to do with the hostility thick in the air.

Before he could look for the shop the Bothan mentioned, a commotion at the other end of the market distracted him and all the vendors around him. The vendor he addressed earlier rushed away from his stall to watch the unfolding scene.

“Catch him!” someone cried out as a small form barreled through the crowd, followed by a very large hulk of human being giving chase, followed by three other people. The figure barely reached his waist has he raced by so quick, Mando barely got a glimpse of the blue and grey helmet before what he now realized was a kid turning the corner. 

His stomach dropped, his legs carrying him to join the pursuit before realization caught up with his movements.

The helmet was unmistakably Mandalorian, but more than that—it was identical to those of the _Kyr’tsad_. His clan, the ones who Found him, the ones who raised him in The Way.

His heart pounded in time with his feet as he joined chase of the boy, treads on his boots giving him more traction as he gained on the gang of pursuers, wheeling around the corner. The large man leading the hunt was surprisingly quick despite his size, the distance between him and the fleeing kid decreasing with each large stride.

The helmed young one slipped to all-fours as he went to dart around another corner of the alleyway, giving those chasing him the chance to catch up. One burly arm snaked out and grabbed the boy by the collar, yanking him up to pin him against the wall. Slung over the kid’s shoulder was a small knapsack he clasped to his side. His assailant immediately ripped the sack from him, tearing the strap and tossing it to one of the men who joined him. 

“You little Mando thief,” he snarled, sucker-punching the kid in the stomach.

Din’s hands twitched at his sides upon seeing a large full-grown man beat on the child. Yet he restrained speaking, not recognizing the kid as a member of any covert he knew. It was obvious the boy knew he stole something by his immediate dash through the market, maybe he did the unthinkable and stole the helmet of a Mandalorian as well. He wore no other armor Din could see, and the helm was comically large compared to the rest of his body, wobbling around.

But he was obviously young, no more than seven or eight if human. No one that young deserved to be struck in that manner by an adult.

The man reared back for another punch to the gut, but suddenly paused. From his belt emitted a steady all too familiar beeping. Immediately he released the boy, who crumpled to the ground in a heap, breath coming in gasps fizzled by the vocodor inside the helmet.

The large human took the tracking fob off his waist, where it joined at least five other of the same device. A bounty hunter through and through, though not any member of the Guild on Nevarro he recognized. Fob obviously triggered by the presence of the ad’ika, there was no way he came from Karga. Countless bounty organizations and solo hunters existed in the galaxy.

Via their connection, his son seemed to notice the immediate thick tension and hunkered further into the sling and under his cloak, completely still.  
The bounty hunter whirled around to face Din, hand extended as the device beeped faster. Upon noticing him for the first time, laughter boomed from the man. “Another one of you? And full-grown, wonder what the bounty on your head is--” He cut off as he flipped the fob over, a label on the back of it, then looked back up at Din with an ominous grin.

“I was hired by Rhugo here,” the hunter continued as he gestured at the person holding the knapsack of stolen goods, “because some Mando brat lurked around the market and food disappeared from different stalls.” Din’s hand hovered over his blaster as the man approached. “I didn’t think I’d hit the jackpot of all quarries on a shithole planet in the middle of nowhere.”

His eyes darted up and down, scanning Mando. “Where is it? You wanted the bounty for yourself I take it?” He crossed his arms. “Let’s split it, it’s more than enough to make a senator envious.”

“Don’t make deals with a Mandalorian in front of me,” warned the man called Rhugo. “You know we--”

“I don’t give a damn what grudge you bumpkins have against them. C’mon Mando, let’s see the bounty. What is it anyway?”

“My son,” Din stated firmly without hesitation, “so no deal. You will have him over my dead body.”

The bounty hunter belted out an incredulous laugh. “What? Isn’t it fifty years old or something? Stop the jokes--”

“ _B-Ba’vodu?_ ”

Din’s head swung away from the bounty hunter to zone in on the boy, still hunched over, oversized helmet tilted enough on his head to reveal the ends of three small striped lekku.

“Cadir?” Din ventured, not daring to believe this was the same Togruta Foundling of a clan-sister from his covert. Last he saw of the child, he was not old enough to run around with a helmet of his own and played in the Creche with the other very young ones. Maybe he should have avoided using the child’s name in front of others, but he’d already decided the four men in this alleyway would die.

The boy let out a relieved sigh, followed by a fit of coughing. Din bristled when the large man slammed a foot on the kid’s back and forced him down, keeping him pinned to the ground as he turned back to face Din. 

“I guess you know each other?” he sneered, eyes somehow locked onto the Mandalorian’s own despite the tinted visor. “Change of plans.” Eerie smile still plastered on his face, the mans hand floated to a pocket on his coat. Din swiftly drew his blaster to aim straight between the man’s eyes. 

Without a flinch, the man eased a hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a small pouch, then tossed it over his shoulder at the shopkeeper called Rhugo. “I know the three of you are armed, time for a Mandalorian hunt. You get to split thirty percent of the reward—AAAAAH!”

He cut off with a scream and clutched the left calf bearing his weight. Embedded in it was a tiny vibroblade, the hand of Cadir striking it deeper as he bucked up and threw the unbalanced man off his back.

Din’s blaster shot missed as his intended target doubled over from the knife and stumbled straight into him, massive weight shoving the Mandalorian’s back to the alley wall. Pinned between two hard surfaces of beskar and brick, his child yelped and floundered in the restrictions of his swaddle. 

Din braced a forearm against the wall to prevent from squishing the infant any further, shoved the bounty hunter off him with the other arm just in time to spin round and let his pauldron take the blaster bolt shot at him by Rhugo. Right away he returned fire, hitting the shopkeeper square in the chest. 

The large bounty hunter shuffled to the entrance of the alleyway, clutching his leg with one hand and shoving one of the other of the two remaining men behind him to intercept Din’s plasma bolt. He stumbled around the corner as the last remaining assailant fell on his behind to the ground, babbling pleads of mercy and throwing his weapon aside. Beneath where he sat, the snow melted from the urine that seeped from his pants.

Grimacing in disgust at the cowardice, Din holstered his blaster. “Get out of here.” The man cringed at his harsh tone. " _Now_.” He turned around, the sound of skittering shoes behind him enough to reassure he would not get shot in the back. As much as he wanted to track down the wounded bounty hunter, he had more pressing matters. Besides, an entire village hostile to Mandalorians finding the bodies of their fellow residents would lead to inevitable persuit. 

He scanned the surroundings, searching for some sort of place to hide the bodies before locking on what looked to be a small rudimentary trash compactor. Ignoring the Togruta’s still gaze hidden by the helm, he scooped up the two bodies and threw them both into the compactor. Blood and piss still lingered in the snow, no amount of kicking it around able to hide it. They needed to leave the area as soon as possible—he hoped the Bothan had finished refueling his ship.

Din swung the sling to his front to check on his son. Despite a disgruntled grunt, the infant seemed unharmed and simply perturbed. Then the Mandalorian turned his attention to the boy still leaning heavily against the wall, staring at him.

“D-Din?” asked the kid now they were in private.

Din leaned over, grabbed the kid by the forearm and hoisted him to his feet. “Yeah, it’s me. No time to catch up or talk about you making one of the _Mando’ade_ look like a _chakaar_ , we gotta get back to my ship before the town--”

“No! We can’t leave now.” To his surprise the boy shoved away the arm supporting him to stand and staggered further into the alley. “We need to get the others first!”

Cautious relief threatened to take over Din, but he kept a level head. “How many.” Behind him he heard incoming footfalls and many voices. “We have to go.”

“Follow me!” The boy beckoned for him to follow, and proceeded to lead Mando down many winding alleyways. The boy seemed to have recovered from the punches, gait bumbling like one his age but not unable to bear weight like before. After a brief silence he answered his question. “There are three of us.”

“Siuan?” Din asked of Cadir’s _buir_ before he could stop himself. The all too familiar helmet on the child’s head wobbling as his small strides hitched made the obvious plain and bare in front of him. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt hollow through his vocodor as he jogged to catch up to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can slow down now, we put a good distance between us and them, but we should keep moving.”

Cadir’s head hung low as he continued his path, Din beside him. When they turned into gap so tiny Din had to bring his _ad’ika_ tight to the front of his chest as he shuffled sideways deep between the buildings, he heard the boy in front of him counting his steps between periodic sniffles.

“Count in Mando’a” he instructed, trying to distract the boy from the fresh reminder Din gave him of his parent’s death.

The boy obliged and switched, speech fumbling with a language likely new to him. Cadir had been with the covert for a little over a year. 

Finally he halted, bending over to pull at a sewer grate near the very end of the passage, right next to other identical grates. At least three feet long and high, the heavy metal gridding barely jiggled as the boy tugged with all his might. Din let him try a few more times, realizing the _Mando’ika_ kept the pride of their people alive in his determination. 

Cadir let out a sigh, paused, then leaned in to attempt yet again. Form still small enough for Din to easily crouch over him, he placed his hands to either side of the kid’s and pulled up with him. It was surprisingly heavy, even for him as they slowly eased it up and to the side, just far enough so it would not make it too hard to replace when they entered the sewers. 

Before he stood back up, in the sling he felt his son squirm against the collar of his dura-weave. One clawed green hand reached out to rest against the visor of Cadir’s helm, followed by a curious coo.

“You have a Foundling now?” asked the boy, reaching a hand up touch the small three-fingered one on his helm. Din’s chest twinged uncomfortably when he noticed the Togruta's orange hand was bare, chapped, and tinged red with cold. Somehow this youngling and other Mandalorians fought to exist while stranded on this planet for months, and suffered in the process. 

The Mandalorian released the grate. “Yes.” For a couple more seconds he remained hunched over the two Foundlings as they wordlessly greeted each other before standing back up. Noises of the mob in the distance came through the audio reception of his helmet. “Let’s go.”

The boy moved in first, slowly easing himself as best he could to the first rung of the ladder. Din kept hold under his armpits and helped him down until the kid had a stong grip on the metal bars. The corroded ladder creaked under the togruta’s light weight, worrisome to the full-sized Mandalorian whose entire beskar weighed twenty pounds at least. Once Cadir descended enough, Din shifted his son to his back and eased his weight as slow as possible on the first step, then the next. 

The fifth rung cracked under his boot. “Cadir, grab my cloak with both your hands.” He kept his tone sharp but calm to not panic the youngling. To his relief the boy immediately did as he asked. Just as he used his foot on the fourth step to launch their weight upwards and grab at the edge of the sewer entrance, the rusty ladder beneath them crumbled and fell into the water below.

Cadir yelped and scampered up the Mandalorian’s armor like a tach on a tree. Din helped him up the rest of the way to cling to his neck. Arm freed, he pulled at the edge of the heavy grating and tugged with all his might. The sound of the crowd was only a few dozen yards away—they must be following their footsteps in the snow.

Grunting with effort, the Mandalorian was only able to pull it a couple centimeters at the time. Cadir too took hold of the grate with the arm not in a vice-grip around Din’s helmet, straining with vain to assist.

Suddenly the sewer cover accelerated with such a velocity as if rammed by a large force in the direction they were trying to pull it, coming to cover the entrance as it was before they entered. 

Din did not need to look to know his _ad’ika_ was responsible, the wave of exhaustion via their bond was a good enough hint.

“H-how…?”

“No time, move to my right side.” The heat sensors in his helmet picked up the signatures of at least ten figures only one or two turns away from the gap where the sewer entrance was. Snow melting made his gloved fingers start to slip from their hold on the edge.

Cadir did as he was told and went to other side of Din. With his one loose arm, the Mandalorian tugged the sash of the sling to bring the infant to the front of his body.

He glanced down at the drop to the water beneath—about thirty feet. “Hold on, I’m going to drop down and it won’t be pretty.”

Before the Togruta could question or protest, Din let go. He curled his body around both children as he plummeted, hoping his beskar and body would cushion the fall for the two he held. Screams of terror from both _Mando’ika_ cut deep to his heart.

For a split second he registered the splash of water around him, followed by the hard impact of rough stone to his balled-up form. 

The impact forced all air from his body, head coming back to collide hard on the ground as well, reminding him of his still healing head wound. Vision tunneling, Din could not fight the blackness of unconsciousness that took over, the crying of the Foundlings echoing in his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba'vodu (uncle)  
> chakaar (thief)  
> Mando’ika (little Mandalorian)  
> Kyr'tsad (Deathwatch, the fringe Mandalorian organization that rescued little Din)
> 
> Splitting this up because it was getting an excessive wordcount to post in one chunk, and also had definite narrative breaks/suspense I could use in seperate chapters rather than one whole 10k+ word segment. Also makes editing easier. Already have a good portion of the rest written and edited, so updates should be much quicker with the upcoming parts of this story segment.
> 
> Used some Clone Wars lore and episode arcs related to Death Watch in this, specifically the planet and its scarred past with a massacre on relatively peaceful people by Pre Vizsla of Death Watch. Now they aren't so receptive to Mandalorians. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your positive reviews and support. The response to this fic has been wonderful and inspiring to me, especially since I set out with the intention of posting this just to get some things floating around in my head written out. I'm glad I can entertain others as well as myself, bonus!


	11. Guilt--Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finds what remains of his Tribe, but things have been rough for them. Much more lingers in the sewers besides sewer water. Letting the bounty hunter get away had been a terrible idea. 
> 
> Responsibility increased three-fold, Din has to come to terms with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Children hurt/in danger.

Water seeped into the fabric of Din’s undersuit, jerking him back to consciousness barely after it left him. Weight on his chest startled him to sit up, Cadir tumbling off to splash back in the shallow stream. The Mandalorian’s tailbone was sore, but not severely damaged, only bruises and a brief lapse in awareness. 

Over the crying of the children, he heard the chatter of the small crowd hunting them. A wave of dizziness and nausea rushed over him as he quickly glanced up to see the heat signatures less than a dozen yards away at the entrance to the tiny gap between buildings.

“Hush,” he hissed to the two children. Instantaneously they quieted to sniffles and hiccups, his _ad’ika’s_ eyes wide with fear. It took more effort than normal to stagger to his feet, swallowing back the urge to vomit as bile burned the rear of his throat. “Show me where to go,” he demanded of Cadir.

The boy flinched at his urgency, breath coming in gasps as he fought his tears, but he turned around and led them deeper into the sewers. Lights filtered through the grates illuminated the area they previously stood at seconds after they moved.

“Ooof!” Cadir tripped over the uneven stones and almost fell flat on his visor if Din had not reached out and grabbed his upper arm. Beneath his hand the boy’s arm trembled, the youngling’s other hand coming up to hang onto Din’s. Guilt caused him to turn the boy around and crouch in front of him.

Din flipped the switch for the light on the kid’s helmet. “Make sure if you can’t see through your visor you turn this on.” The Mandalorian did the same with his own helm. The sewer grate the entered by shook from someone trying to move it. When he let the boy go to stand back up, he heard the tiniest of whimpers almost hidden by the ripples of the water around their ankles. He held out his hand. “C’mon, let’s get moving.”

Without hesitation Cadir clung to Din’s offered palm with a desperate grip, then pulled him forward. For a while they walked in silence, every now and then the clang of metal grating echoing in the tunnels as someone struggled to pull it free. They would have a hard time getting down without the ladder and armor to protect their fall. Din’s head still swam from the impact.

Movement far into the tunnel made him pause. His sensors picked up on an odd rustling, multiple footfalls that definitely were not a bipedal humanoid. Cadir shrank to Din’s side as the Mandalorian tried to zoom in on whatever lifeform approached them. The youngling glued to his hip seemed frightened enough to know something about what they faced.

“What is it?”

“I thought _Buir_ killed them all,” the boy whispered. “Kinrath.”

Haar’chak! _That means there’s more than one..._

Din drew his blaster and pulled Cadir to stand behind him, then shifted the infant in the sling to his back. “Keep close.” Keeping his blaster aimed on the creatures skittering towards them, he reached into the holster on his leg, taking out the vibroblade. “You’ve started practicing knife and melee combat, or at least got your vibroblade from somewhere.” He held the blade and offered the handle to the kid. Slowly, the boy reached out and took the knife with both hands. “Careful,” Din cautioned, then turned around and aimed down the sight of his blaster. “ _Hukaat’kama_.”

“ _Elek_.” The boy’s voice shook, but from the corner of his eye the Mandalorian saw him shift into a beginner, yet solid stance for melee. At the response a grim, brief smile crossed Din’s features under his helm. His heart ached for Cadir—when he was a boy, Din had been Found around the same age as the Togruta. But he was eased into fighting, into combat. He was not wielding a vibroblade in a sewer against poisonous creatures at seven or eight years old, despite the Clone Wars raging into the Empire’s rule as he came of age and the loss of his _buir_ much later on in the Purge.

Once he could properly aim, Din fired his blaster into the head of the kinrath. Carapace surprisingly tough, it took more than three shots before he finally felled one. Five more of the creatures approached, the gap between the Mandalorian and them decreasing at a greater rate than he anticipated, having to unload at least three bolts at a time.

He drew his other vibroblade from the sheath along the back of his belt just in time as the remaining two bared down on them. The closest kinrath reared on four of its legs and lashed out with its poison-tipped proboscis. It pinged dangerously off his beskar-clad forearm. Six blaster shots at point-blank did nothing except injure it slightly and anger it even more. It was huge, much larger than the others. Must be the queen of the nest of kinrath in the sewers.

By instinct he almost dodged, but when his back brushed against Cadir’s quivering form, he took another strong blow to his vambraces from the large stinger that made him stumble back into the boy. Thrown off-balance, Din had to use one arm for support against the curved wall behind him, leaving the boy exposed to the kinrath queen towering over him. 

In one smooth movement, he holstered his blaster and reached out to grab Cadir’s collar--

\--to have his fingers wrap around thin air.

In his peripheral, he saw the boy had already moved impossibly far away in one second. Astonished, Din realized the kid was _floating in the air_ , feet inches from the ground. On his shoulder he felt his son’s weight, clawed fingertips extended beside his helmet.

Cadir cried out in surprise as he deposited in a heap about forty yards away. Distracted by the events unfolding in quick succession, Din was not ready when the creature collided with him. Blaster still at his side, he used his free arm to halt his fall and the kinrath overshot her target, practically standing on top of him, the other kinrath joining its queen in her attack.

Blaster bolts suddenly echoed from the other end of the sewer, aim precise as three bolts took down the second kinrath. The shots came far from the other end of the tunnels, the one who fired them not visible to Din.

The last beast’s attention diverted at the sudden sounds and the body of the other creature toppling into it. Opportunity presented itself in the gap between the chitinous plated covering the beast. Din stabbed the vibroblade in the weak point, turning his knife, he ripped it down the line between the shells. Green gore splattered on his visor and chestplate, the queen flailing and rearing up, venom-laced limb arching over beneath her at his back.

His back, where the child lay unprotected, the layer of blankets a poor barrier no match for the stinger. Din whirled around to take the impact to his side, unfortunately lacking armor there.

The sting never came—instead the entire proboscis flopped useless to the ground, residual nerve endings making it twitch in the water. Din finished the deep slash to the creature’s abdomen. He heaved as the large form stilled and began to fall over, shoving the body off him.

Cadir stood in front of him, knife still extended in a shaking two-handed grip, covered helm to toe with the same green substance that obstructed the visibility of his visor. 

Din staggered upright and clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Good job.” He could tell the boy was barely holding it together, and he didn’t blame him. Cadir crashed into his side, sobs broken by the vocodor in the youngling’s helmet. Still not used to being around allies much—let alone showing affection or comfort—Din awkwardly patted the boy on the top of his helmet, using his other hand to swing the toddler’s sling to his front to check on the little one.

Nestled in the blankets, the child roused from slumber and slowly blinked up at him with a tired croon. 

“You need to know your limits,” lectured the Mandalorian in a soft tone, lightly tapping the child on his wrinkled forehead.

Uneven splashes of water in the distance caused Din to quick-draw his blaster and aim it down the tunnel. To his surprise, Cadir detached from his side and ran ahead.

“Naomi!” The boy’s tone was excited and relieved as he dashed towards the approaching figure, who let out a pained grunt when he hugged them.

The person neared the light of his helmet, illuminating their armor and blaster, and confirming Din’s suspicions.

Naomi Vizsla huffed a short laugh. “Din Djarin, here? The covert’s _beroya_ and the reason the past few months of our lives have been shit? Great.”

Din did not know if he should let her elaborate or scold her harsh language in front of young ones, but then he noticed her odd posture, her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. He was going to ask her about that instead of her harsh greeting, but she disregarded him and turned around.

“C’mon out, Zyra,” Naomi shouted into the tunnel, “It’s safe, for now.”

Small quick footsteps waded through the water, and a small human girl no more than four years old toddled from wherever she was hiding.

_Manda...no._

Dread settled like an uncomfortable weight on his chest. Not a single adult, the eldest among them all barely fourteen years old--

\-- _Well, technically not._ He glanced down at his fifty year old son, whose attention focused on the newcomers. In the light of the three helmets, the small girl stood and beamed up at them.

“Did ya make the bugs go away?” she asked Din. He took a breath to answer, but the questions continued. “I’m Zyra, who’re you?” She stood on tiptoes and held out her hand as far as she could reach.

Reeling from implications and tripled responsibility, he automatically leaned over to grasp her forearm in the Mandalorian handshake. She responded in turn, holding his wrist with her tiny hand that could barely wrap half of his own. “Din,” he responded, now remembering her. 

The little girl was the last one of their Tribe to be Found. In fact, she found them. Two Mandalorians on guard duty at the entrance to the Covert saw her wandering the alleyway that ran in front of the hideout, so he was told. The first and only time he saw her was right after she was discovered, in the medical bay when he was getting shrapnel taken out of the back of his neck. She was dirty, thin, frail, and terrified, refusing to leave the hold of her Mandalorian Finder, Vivyc. He never got her name nor saw her up close again, returning to the Covert only for forging his armor before everything went downhill for his people. All due to his sin.

Despite his only memory of her, the little girl before him had a bit more spunk and smiles.

At his chest, the infant warbled and reached out of his sling towards Zyra, mimicking their greeting gesture. Her eyes widened as she noticed the little green tyke, behind her a sharp intake of breath from Naomi.

“You have a Foundling?” Naomi asked, voice incredulous. Did he give off that little paternal potential to his Tribe? Everyone acted so surprised when they saw the child with him.

Din watched Zyra and his _ad’ika_ exchange a Mandalorian handshake before replying. “Yes, he is my son until I find his own kind or he comes of age,” he said after a moment, glancing back up at the young teen. From the rapid rise and fall of her chest and sagging posture, he could tell she was in pain. Now they were closer together, he noticed her left shoulder jutted out at an odd angle. 

_What is it with the recent shoulder injuries I’ve had to deal with_?

Making up his mind, he took the kid out of his sling and lowered him to the thin raised stone walkway along the side of the water. “Naomi and I are going to go scout ahead for any more kinrath.” He squared his shoulders and looked her straight on at the T of her visor before glancing back at Cadir to address him. “Keep an eye on them, mine likes to run off before you know it.”

“ _Elek!_ affirmed the boy with a nod.

Din walked on past Naomi, giving a jerk of his head to indicate her to follow him down the hall. 

“I’m not list--”

“We. Are. Scouting,” he growled under his breath, giving a light tap to her injured shoulder with his pointer finger.

Though the contact was barely more than a brief touch, she hissed in pain and flinched away. He looked at her pointedly, then back at the Foundlings sitting in a circle, the littlest of them babbling nonsense, and then back to her.

They rounded the corner until he could barely hear the kids inside his helmet. “Take the pauldron off your bad shoulder.”

Naomi hesitated, but complied. While she fumbled with the straps on her piece of armor, Din unclasped his cape and handed it to her. Pausing, she tilted her head in confusion.

“You’re gonna need to remove your helmet,” clarified Din. She recoiled and inhaled to retort, but he did not let her. “If you vomit it won’t get in your helmet.” The other bit of the explanation made him hesitate. But she had sworn the Creed, he had seen her do it. There was no coddling her anymore as a full-fledged member of the Tribe, no longer considered a child. “Also the kids might...hear you when I put your shoulder back into place and I know you don’t want to worry them.”

Not able to see each other’s expressions was a blessing and a curse to the Mandalorians. After a long pause, the teen gave a curt nod and returned to her attempt to get the pauldron off her shoulder.

Din shoved the cloak at her. “Hold this, I’ll get it.” 

“Fine.” He could tell she gritted her teeth around the word as he loosened the strap around her shoulder and beneath the armpit. Beneath her armor the duraweave suit was tattered and dirty, so he guessed it would not matter if he cut the sleeve open partially along the seam.

Still, she had quite the temper and wanted to be considered not a child anymore by others, so he asked permission as he lifted his vibroblade.“I can get your undersuit mended, but I need to see the shoulder without a barrier.”

“Can’t you just put the joint back in there?” she grumbled.

“No. I had to do the same when I had my first dislocation.”

Naomi’s helmed head swiveled to stare at him. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder more than once?” She sighed and sat down on the ledge, gesturing at her shoulder. “Get on with it.”

“My right one twice, left once.” He tapped both as he pointed them out, taking her disguised acceptance for aid and using his knife to cut along the seam from the middle of her humerus to the rounded hollow of a joint where her shoulder should be. 

The flesh around it was swollen to the point it made his son’s previous injury look like a scratch in comparison. “How long has it been this way?” This would take almost all his bacta supplies to help her recover soon enough to be able to fully use her arm properly.

“Almost two days,” she replied in an aggressive, elevated tone, as if daring him to lecture her. He did not dare to challenge her, she likely did not have someone who could have helped her correct the joint on this planet so another argument was a waste of time.

“Put on the cloak, take off your helmet, and take off a glove.”

She scoffed at the latter command. “A glove? Why? Can’t take them off with one hand anyway.”

“So you don’t bite your tongue,” he said thickly, hating to have to be so abrupt with her, but from his memories of her from newborn to now in the Tribe, he knew she could handle it.

Din slowly bent her elbow with one hand and holding the wrist of the same side with the other. “Your father was the one to help put my shoulder back into place the first time, and taught me how to do this.” He took the glove off the hand of her injured limb and handed it to her. 

With reluctance she took the glove and tossed the cape over her head. “He did?” Metal softly clanked against the stone as she set her helmet to the side, then sat down. He knelt beside her and probed the injury.

“Yep.” Din angled her shoulder to the appropriate angle. “It was a bit before the Rebellion started. We chased a _dar’manda_ who tried to turn the Tribe over to the Empire all the way to Dxun, only for a drexl to take him out for us. Almost took me out too.” He levered her arm, pushed against the joint, and with a sickening _pop_ it sprung back into place.

Naomi screamed into the glove and the cape, good arm clasping both to her mouth to muffle the sound. Wounded limb now mobile, she closed her hand around his forearm in a vice-grip. Her other healthy arm swung at him, glove plopping from her mouth to the ground as she stumbled away, coughing and swaying.

Din reached out to steady her but she shoved him away again, hunched over and regulating her breathing. Semi-recovered, she stumbled back to him and where her helmet rested. 

“I didn’t throw up,” she boasted, doubled-over beneath the cape.

He crouched, picked up her helmet and handed it to her. “Well, I did the first time I needed my shoulder relocated.” She snatched it from his grasp, ducking to replace her helm and then tossing Din’s cloak back at him. She did it all one-handed, hugging her previously injured limb to her torso.

Din proceeded to take his vibroblade and slice off three even pieces of cloth from his cloak. It was already tattered to begin with, he could get another somewhere else as he had done four times in the past six standard months. His gear expense eclipsed all other expenses in portions of his finances, fabric was a minor blow to his pockets.

He approached the hunched Naomi, still panting from residual pain. “I’ll put it in a sling ‘til we get back to my ship,” he informed her. Again he knelt beside her and started to form the sling around her left arm and neck. 

She did not fight him as he trussed her limb in the sling, something Paz also showed him how to do. “Your ship?” 

“You want to stay on this frozen backwater skughole?” he taunted as he finished his basic first aid, glad his mask hid his small smile. She was so much like her _buir_ , almost a carbon copy. Blood was not the only thing Paz and she shared as father and daughter _Mando’ade_.

“ _Nayc!_ This place is a shithole,” Naomi replied in a scathing tone as she stood up, posture more square and normal than when they first encountered each other. “But where--”

Din held up a hand to hush her, heat signatures of two humanoids appearing through the walls in the distance down the tunnel. Two alone so far, but their confident strides suggested the impending persons knew what they were getting into.

Footsteps barely perceptible, Naomi stalked back behind them to the corner and drew her blaster. “I’ll go to the kids,” she offered in a whisper without him having to ask.

Checking his flamethrower, Whistling Birds, vibroblade, two thermal detonators, five thermal mines, and two blasters, he stalked down the sewer towards the warm-blooded figures visible in his helm.

“Yo! Mando!” boomed a voice that reverberated in the sewers. The large bounty hunter from before walked into the view of his helmet’s lamp, gait at a limp. “Who were you talking to just then?”

“I was about to ask who your friend was,” retorted Din, evading the question. The children had gone completely silent, Naomi must have gotten to them.

His breath caught when the other figure walked into the light projected from his helm, reflecting off the signature shine of beskar steel. The copper and crimson armor gleamed in the low light, instantly recognizable. 

“ _Su cuy’gar_ , Vivyc,” he greeted solemnly, suspecting the man who donned the armor was not who Din thought he was.

No response, instead the man’s hand drifted to his blaster. “I thought I took out all the adults,” drawled the man clad in stolen armor, “guess I was wrong.” Anger bubbled within Din, wrath at seeing beskar used as a trophy threatening to boil over. Instead his hand too moved to his belt to mirror the poser. The large bounty hunter observed the terse exchange with a smirk. Din wondered why one of them did not attempt to shoot him by now.

The answer made itself apparent when multiple footsteps echoed in the tunnels. Behind him, around the corner where the kids were. Din could not help slowly backing up, trying not to turn his head to look for them. As the water splashed around an incoming group, he made up his mind.

“ _Buir_!”

Din’s stomach plummeted to his feet as he wheeled around to see Zyra right behind him, huge smile on her face as she rushed past him straight to the faux Mandalorian. Peeking around the corner just behind were the other children, Naomi hovering over them and reaching out for the escaping toddler.

Before Zyra could get any further, Din swept her off the ground and hugged her to his chestplate, taking a thermal mine out of his belt at the same time. He clicked it once, giving him five seconds to slam it on the wall and dart back to the other children. The little girl flailed against his hold, constant cries for her _buir_ tearing at his heart.

Just as he reached Naomi and the other younglings, the explosion detonated. In the corner of his eye he noticed the other bounty hunter went flying through the air to slam against the opposite wall. Smoke obscured them enough for him to make an escape.

“Stormtroopers came through the grate,” Naomi stated, voice rough with distress. Din was relieved to see his son wrangled in her one-armed hold, but honed in on the term ‘stormtrooper’. Zyra continued to struggle in his grasp, yells garbled by tears.

Din could feel Naomi’s judgment and glare from beneath her helmet. “ _Aruetiise_ took Vivyc’s _beskar’gam_ ,” he explained as he urged her and the younglings to stand on the far side opposite of the corner they clung to. He set Zyra down on the ground and Cadir stepped up to restrain her from running straight back at the cloud of smoke. In Naomi’s grasp, his son stared up at him with wide eyes. Through their odd connection alone he could sense the _ad’ika’s_ fright and agitation, piling on to Din’s own fears.

White armor flashed in the distance behind him, bolts suddenly ringing out all around them. Din spread his arms wide and stood as tall as possible to be a beskar-clad wall of protection between the children and the incoming troopers. Heat signatures suggested at least five approached.

From his belt he took one of his two thermal detonators, using the heat signatures in his helm to properly aim his incoming throw. Two clicks for ten seconds and once they reached less than fifty yards away, he chucked it at their feet. The red light and beeping made the troopers panic as expected frantically kicking in the water to find the device.

Too late to interrupt, the blast went off. Din ducked over the kids crouching behind his back to keep the debris spray from hitting them. The explosion rang true, wiping out all five of the troopers. To his left, he saw the false-Mandalorian round the corner of the tunnel. As Din suspected the armor the man stole held up, expected of the _ad_ of the Armorer and Matriarch of Din’s Tribe.

“You took out all those Imps?” garbled the man through his neglected vocoder while he raised a thermal detonator in his own hand, activating it and tossing it towards the Mandalorian’s feet. 

Honed in on the explosive, Din dove to cover it with his body, only to have it dart away. It zoomed straight for the lone adversary and detonated just behind the impostor, flinging him against the far wall to settle in a heap.

Din swiveled around to see his son collapse over, held up by Cadir. Despite his first instinct to scoop up his child, Din instead had to move to keep Zyra away from the mimic Mando. 

“ _Buir_!” she screamed again as she neared him, arms reached out begging for a hug as she approached within feet of the fallen imposter.

The concussed man lashed a gauntlet-clad hand out, but Din got there first and once more swept the innocent Foundling out of the way. The man ripped the helmet off his head, panting harshly in pain. Zyra stilled in Din’s hold upon seeing the foreign face. Din tried to smother the relief that flooded him that it would now be easier to explain to the girl how the man who wore her father’s armor was not who she thought he was. Mournful sobs from the little one made him instantly regret his relief.

“I’ll take her,” Naomi said at his side, holding out her good arm. Behind her Cadir sat and held his _ad’ika_ in an awkward crouch.

He pried the girl away from her grasp on his cuirass.“Got her?” he asked Naomi as she adjusted her one-limb hold on Zyra to her hip. “Tend to them, guard them” the Mandalorian said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. She nodded and turned back to the other kids, quickly ushering them out of line of sight. He’d need to tell Paz how much of a warrior and protector of their traditions Naomi was the next time he saw him.

If Paz still lived. At least the Vizsla Clan went on with vigor through his daughter. _Mandokarla_ through and through.

Once the children were out of sight, Din stormed to the man in front of him, hoisting him up by the chestplate. “What was your goal here?” he snarled.

“What do you--”

Din punched him straight in the nose, blood spraying from it. “Where did the Imps come from?”

After a bit more persuasion and aggressive negotiations, Din discovered the man was actually an ex-stormtrooper. In fact, Empire deserters settled into the remote planet of Clarlac a few days ago. They had found the children, Vivyc, and Siuan living in the shelter they had used for five months as they huddled away from the villagers. The Mandalorians had fled from the overwhelming number of deserters that actually showed. Vivyc ventured back to the old Deathwatch foothold desperate for supplies and was killed for it. Siuan had tried again in desperation to get the few belongings they had back and was mortally wounded, making it back to collapse just outside the sewers to warn the children to hide.

The bounty hunter Din and Cadir encountered in the alleyway hours prior had come limping to the Imperial remnants with an offer they could not turn down—the most sought after target in the galaxy.

“The Asset was our ticket of acceptance back to the Empire,” was the last thing the man said before Din ended his confession with a bolt to the head. It might have been preemptive, but Zyra’s cries and the health of his son took more priority. 

Quickly Din stripped the corpse of the stolen armor, propping it against the wall. “Naomi?” He went to the body of the large bounty hunter and removed the beeping fob, smashing it under his boot. The bounty hunter must have rushed to the deserters to inform them of his child’s presence. For good measure he took the rest of the trackers and pocketed them

“ _Elek, Ba’vodu?_ ” she called around the corner. Zyra still clung to the teen, head smothered into her collar. 

“Do we have a way to trav--?”

“Mando!” 

The word rang in the sewer as Din drew his weapon and beckoned Naomi to retreat. Four figures—one of them most definitely the Wookiee from before—approached. Keeping his blaster aimed at those walking straight at them, he scooped up his sleeping son and placed him in the sling, quickly covering him with what little remained of his cloak. Thankfully it was enough to completely hide the child from sight unless one took a close look. Naomi and Cadir huddled behind Din’s bulkier form, Zyra still softly sobbing into the teen’s collar.

Two of the newcomers donned the clothing of the native population, the Wookiee wore a bandoleer across his chest, the last was a Bothan. Din kept his weapon raised, but his adrenaline fell at the greeting from the Bothan.

Said Bothan neared enough to become illuminated in the light of his helmet. Noticing Din’s extreme tension, he raised his hands. “I am Dask Vo’ruh, my cousin runs the space port and sent word right before the...incident in the town square.”

Dask’s ears flicked as Zyra let out a low whine, expression one of surprise upon noticing the group of children clustered behind Din. Wary of the muzzle of the blaster the Mandalorian kept aimed between his eyes, the Bothan paused. “You can lower your weapon, I do not mean you harm. I did not know about the children either, just the rumors of a small Mandalorian thief.”

At the remark Cadir reached up to grasp the ragged bottom of Din’s cape, shrinking into his back to further obscure himself out of view. Dask’s fur waved as the Mandalorian tensed. 

“I assure you Mandalorian, we came here for one thing only,” called out one of the human natives from down the tunnel. “Information. Specifically on Imperials.”

Din jerked his head towards the corner. “There’s five of them right around the corner. Six actually, one without armor.” Just thought of the _Aruetiise_ wearing beskar left a foul taste in his mouth. “How did you know know I was here?”

“I could hear the blaster fire and explosions through the sewer grate in my stock room,” explained Dask. Behind him the bulk of hair that was the Wookiee strode forward, a bowcaster in one arm. 

Din shifted his blaster to aim at the imposing figure approaching them. The Wookiee did not stop, instead grumbling a low roar and rounding the corner towards the place Din indicated prior.

“He says he is checking the bodies of the Imperials, he means you no harm,” translated the Bothan, who tilted his head. “You know these younglings?”

Naomi answered for him. “We are all Mandalorian, all from the same Tribe.” Her voice was strained as she struggled with the squirming and sniffling Zyra.

Dask opened his mouth to question further, but the Wookiee grumbled a phrase as he came walking back. 

“He asks if these are all of them or if there are more.”

“If so, they’re at what remains of the old kyr-- Deathwatch covert.” At his back he felt his son start to stir in his sling, and Zyra’s fussing had increased as she slipped out of Naomi’s one-arm hold. “Is your shop far? I need to re-supply and get the kids...off planet.” At that moment he realized he had no plans for where or what he would do with the younglings. But he could worry about that later.

The Bothan nodded. “Follow me.”

“Wait,” said one of the humans timidly. “Can you go check and see if there are more at the old Mandalorian camp?”

“No. I have to get these children off this planet immediately.” Din beckoned the kids to stay close as he brushed past the humans and fetch the armor of his fallen Tribesman. Kneeling down, he picked up the helmet first and waved Zyra over to him. “ _Olar, vod’ika..._.” 

Zyra took her father’s helmet in her hands, staring at it for a few seconds before fresh tears welled up in her eyes. She startled Din by rushing into his chestplate, ducking her head in his neck and sobbing as she hugged the helm to her. 

The Wookiee joined them and rumbled something, nodding once as he scooped up all the pieces of armor in one go. He must have noticed Din’s hands were full at the moment.

“He says his…business partner recently touched down on the planet’s surface to confirm to the New Republic Imperial remnants are more than they thought in the Outer Rim,” said Dask as Din picked up the upset girl rejoined him, leading them down another tunnel. “They will flush out any leftovers. Also did you really take out all those kinrath too?”

“Yes.” Din’s tone was short as he briskly picked up the pace.

Just what he needed, now the New Republic was here too. At the back of his mind he wondered why a random Wookiee would be involved in an official investigation and how a random Bothan knew him.

@@@

Soon enough they all walked as a group from Dask’s shop back to the ship, the Wookiee being kind enough to carry the beskar and the large sack of supplies they bought. Dask accompanied them as well. Din was still on high alert, shifting his hold on Zyra to one side to free a hand to hover at his side near his holster. The village stared daggers at the cluster of Mandalorians hurriedly leaving town for the spaceport in the distance. He picked up the pace when he heard Cadir’s teeth chattering and the girl in his arm shivering in the cold air of the surface.

When they got there, Din saw the other ship. If he thought the _Razor Crest_ was a hunk of junk, it was nothing compared to the sparking mess of a ship. He wondered how bad the New Republic’s budget must be to send officials in transportation like that.

At his back the little one peered from beneath his cape, clawed fingers coming to rest on his pauldron as the child propped himself up to brave the cold and stare wide-eyed at the large Wookiee beside them. The Wookiee in turn tilted his head, eyes squinted as he mumbled something Dask either did not hear or did not bother to translate.

Din thanked the Wookiee as he deposited the armor and supplies in the cargo hold of the _Crest_ and bade farewell to them. The Wookiee gave one more curious look at Din’s son as he walked off to the junkpile of a ship, where a man in a thick coat awaited him. The humanoid hunched, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the galaxy. When the Wookiee joined the man, Din saw the human supposedly from the Republic turn to look at the _Razor Crest_. In a hurry to leave before he attracted Republic eyes, he exchanged money with the Engineer, voiced his appreciation, and abruptly closed the hatch of the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hukaat’kama (watch my back)  
> Elek (yes)  
> dar’manda (one who was once a Mandalorian who gave up the Way, excommunicated to a point from traditionalists.)  
> Su cuy’gar (Hello, literally “You’re still alive”)  
> Aruetiise (outsider)  
> Beskar’gam (armor)  
> Mandokarla (the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life )  
> Ba’vodu (uncle)
> 
> Sorry to end rather abruptly, I have been very ill the past week or two [thus the lack of updates], so editing has required more effort. I am thankfully on the mend and able to focus better, expect it back to the weekly or more update frequency. I'll try to re-read this again to make sure I didn't cause confusion with new character introductions or scene structure.
> 
> Catch the cameos?


	12. Guilt--Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando adjusts to life as basically a daycare center. Little green goblin learns a tad about jealousy. Teens are sassy.
> 
> Din perhaps finds a solution to his conundrum, if he can get there without having a constant panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler fluff incoming. Written before the upcoming chapter if that makes sense. I needed to stretch time to edit and thought this would be a good way. Plus elaborating on OCs, OCs are hard for me in fanfiction.

All the tension left Din’s body as the door of the ship shut behind him. One desperate trip to resupply and refuel ended up with way more than he bargained for. If before he had no idea what to do or where to go with his _ad’ika_ , certainly he was in over his head now.

Din took a deep breath and turned to address the children. “Alright, I’m gonna get us off planet then we’ll get out the supplies and get all of you fixed up.”

“Where are we going?” Naomi asked as she slumped into a chair.

Din glared at her over Zyra’s head. “We will get to that after.” Truth be told he had no idea what to do, but he did not want to let on to that. He walked over to the crates that doubled for chairs in the ship and tried to deposit the girl on top. 

She wanted none of that, face pressing closer into his shoulder, hicupping with no tears left to spend. Din sighed, then shifted her to his hip and wrangled off the sling that held his _ad’ika_ , lowering him to the crate instead.

Din’s mind flooded with a sudden jealousy not his own. He looked down and saw the child’s ears were pinned.

“You can come, I just can’t carry you up the ladder.”

“ _Nay’c._ ”

 _Oh stars, not this again._ He shook his head and climbed the ladder, made difficult with the use of one limb and the seething scratching his thoughts via his bond with his son. The child could set up barriers in his mind if Din initiated contact or experienced intense emotion, but the Mandalorian could not. When he retreated into the cockpit, the grip of the child’s mind on his loosened. 

Awkwardly he sat in the pilot’s chair, having to reach around the distressed Zyra to flip the switches and buttons to fire the ship. She did not seem to mind, hiccoughing sobs finally faded off into silence. 

When the _Crest_ exited Carlac’s gravity, Din slumped back to look at Zyra. In just the few minutes it took to get into space, she had fell asleep. All the improvement and tenacity she gathered in her five months with the Tribe, now it was almost all spent and would need to start over. At least her grandmother, the Matriarch, was still around. At least some of her _vod_ \--including Din’s child—existed in the galaxy.

His thoughts snapped back to the Armorer. Nevarro...it had only been two standard weeks since he left the planet. Surely she had not melted all the scattered beskar in that short amount of time. It had been months since he traveled to the Covert last time he returned, and she was still there with quite the pile to go. She would know what to do with the children, wouldn’t she? They would not be in such a hurry to leave, he could at least ask her to point in the right direction.

Greef and Cara were there too. Last he knew, Paz had a bounty on his head so high he was forced to stay put in the Covert for quite a few standard weeks before they had to relocate the Covert. Thus the tension between he and Din escalated to the point of physical confrontation. Perhaps Greef could find a way to get a puck on Paz—if not from his own guild, then maybe he had contacts who could point him in the right direction.

Maybe...Din looked down at Zyra slumped against his chest, snoring softly. Maybe he could solve this, make up for his guilt of tearing apart his Tribe and making these kids go through hell. Maybe after he found his Foundling’s people he could reunite--

His throat constricted at the thought of parting with the little green tyke. A being he unconsciously acknowledged as his son before the Matriarch stated it verbally. Would he be able to commit to the task if he somehow found his species, these Jedi?

An inevitable fact that loomed over all this most disturbed him; this child was barely out of his infancy at half a century, how long would that make his lifespan? After doing some rough quick math in his head, Din knew his lifespan potential was one-tenth of the length of time his son could live. He was just a blip in the child’s life, he needed a more permanent solution but any answers slipped through his fingers.

A particularly loud snore from downstairs startled him out of his morose ruminations. Nevarro it was, for now. He punched in the coordinates for the planet, watching the stars above turn into starlines. ETA according to the display read it would take forty-eight hours with hyperspace lanes hops. He sighed. All that indecisive hopping around had placed him clear across the other side of the galaxy. 

Forty-eight hours in close quarters with a teenager, two young children, and a toddler was going make him a basket-case by the time they got to Nevarro. 

Carefully he stood, trying not to jostle Zyra and catching the helmet when it slipped from her relaxed hold. Din went back down the ladder to the cargo hold. The source of the loud snore made itself aware in the curled up form of Cadir slumped over Din’s workbench. Helmet askew so his stripped lekku showed, the kid’s mouth was wide open with a deep snore.

Din wondered how long it had been since they had gotten a good night’s sleep. Days, perhaps weeks. He eased Zyra onto one side of the cot, then after a moment set down her father’s helmet beside her.

The clatter of metal to the ground made him jump and whirl back around to face Cadir. The boy was fully sprawled over the table now, arms splayed awkwardly and a spanner rolling slowly across the floor his wayward limbs knocked down. At first he was going to put the boy on the cot too, but thought better of it seeing as the kid was quite the tumultuous sleeper.

His eyes shifted to the untouched, tucked away bedroll that once belonged to Kuill. Steeling his emotions, he unrolled the sleeping bag in the tucked away corner. A trill of discontent barely perceptible over the low rumble of the ship’s hyperdrive made him pause to look around for the familiar tone of his son.

The _ad’ika_ huddled in the far corner of the ship, glaring at him under a drooped ear. Upon eye contact—the little one could always lock onto his gaze behind the visor since day one—Din felt a flurry of emotins flood their bond.

_Sadness. Frustration. Loneliness…_

_Abandonment_ …

The last emotion slammed through their bond with particular vitriol, making Din pause with the bedroll halfway unrolled as his vision swam and the memory of the child being led away in exchange for beskar once again bared its fangs.

“ _Ad’ika_ ,” whispered the Mandalorian, not understanding where this new negativity sprung from. It could not have just been that Din’s attention was now split between other children—the kid adapted fine on Sorgan when Mando gave Winta Mando’a to practice or took her to the fields for target practice.

In a low crouch, he reached out for his son. His large brown eyes watered with unshed tears, big ears drooped. The sheer sorrow and betrayal over their connection confused Din, until the emotions coalesced into a single thought. It was not words in verbal language, but the intent was clear.

_Don’t leave me._

Oh. _Oh._

Normally Din’s anxious thoughts were his alone late into the night cycle of the ship while the child slept. When he lacked distractions, he had gotten good at putting up mental—for lack of a better word—barriers when trying to wrangle in his own emotions and protect his son from them.

In his haste to get all of them off Carlac, he must have let his anxiety bleed into the otherworldly bond he and the child shared. Without realizing, he burdened his fear on his child—the fear of his own mortality and their inevitable parting, be it finding the kid’s own kind or death. Old age or in battle, the latter much more likely.

As the saying goes, “ _A Mandalorian never dies in their bed_.”

Guilt tightened his chest as he reached a hand out towards the little one, only to have him shuffle further away and face the corner with a sad croon. Din gave up and sighed, returning to his task of unrolling the sleeping pad and blanket.

He could feel his son’s eyes on him as he crossed the small cargo area, scooped one arm under Cadir’s knees and lifted the boy into his arms. Despite having his helmet on, the moment he slid a glance over to the child he saw the tyke huff and turn his back to him once again.

Gently he laid the Togruta on the bedroll and draped Kuill’s old blanket on the boy, who immediate curled beneath it and tugged the blanket closer.

Like he did with Zyra, he placed Cadir’s _buir’s_ helmet within reach, knowing too well the panic any of the Tribe felt upon waking without their helm close by. The boy had not sworn the Creed, but circumstances forced him to take on more responsibility than most new initiates almost twice his age. Giving one last look at his son in the other corner and seeing the obvious cold shoulder, Din resigned to give the child some space and turned his attention to Naomi. 

The teen was slumped in an awkward position in the three chairs, slung shoulder tucked awkwardly to her body. She too had fallen asleep, breathing uneven. Din kneeled and reached a hand out for her good shoulder. “Hey, we--”

Din froze when the tip of a vibroblade hovered centimeters from his jugular. Despite her obvious exhaustion and lingering pain, Naomi’s hand did not waver at the edge of his throat.

He held up one hand and covered her wrist with his other. “Easy.” Keeping his voice even and soft through a vocodor was harder than most people realized. “I just need to give you a bacta patch and something to help with the swelling and pain before we all sleep.”

Ever so slowly, Naomi lowered the knife before she leaned to rest on the back of the chair. One curt nod affirmed her consent for aid, shoulder still bare from before. “Sorry,” she muttered quietly as he stood and turned to the cabinet containing his dwindling medical supplies.

“ _Kih’parjai_ ,” he murmured. “You’re still in the mindset of defending our House. Don’t lose that.” He tried to not look at his son as he stretched over the tiny form to reach the compartment, but could feel the child’s sadness at the edge of his consciousness. 

“As long as we’re in hyperspace on this ship, you can relax,” he reassured Naomi.

“Don’t startle me on purpose, then.” She made the motion to fold her arms, but the sling prevented it.

A spike of anxiety pulsed over his connection with the child when he took the all too familiar syringe and vial out of the medkit. “This isn’t for you, _ad’ika_.” Din turned back to Naomi and crouched beside her with the needle. “Ready?”

She “harumfed” and pointedly turned her helmet away from where the needle hovered just above her shoulder. She hissed quietly as he depressed the syringe, but remained still as a statue. Quickly he unwrapped the bacta patch and applied it. Posture now relaxed, Naomi slumped back.

As he closed up the medkit and put it back in the cabinet, Din said, “We won’t be out of hyperspace for a while, you’d sleep better without the armor.” When he turned back to her, he saw her already discarding her boots, moving from the feet up. 

Din wanted to offer assistance, noticing her using only one hand. It would be a futile gesture she would vehemently refuse. Instead, he lowered the lighting on the ship and approached his son one more time.

“I know you’re tired, let’s go to bed,” he whispered. This time he did not reach out for the child, instead waiting for him to reach out for him. Presence ever at the edge of Din’s mind, the Mandalorian reached out to give a mental caress to the little one. His efforts were clumsy, but the child did not shy away or throw up barriers between them.

In fact, the kid turned back to face him, but not reaching up with hands in invitation to be picked up. Din took any progress as better than none, so he bent over and lifted the child into his arms. The infant did not curl into his grasp or snuggle into his collar like normal, just stared ahead listless.

Once in the cockpit, he lowered the child into the copilot chair. Din rummaged around one of the lower compartments to look for his last spare bedroll, some of the random objects he moved around he had not touched in years. His hand brushed over a hard metal dome. Curious, he pulled the forgotten object towards him, breath catching when the light reflected off the royal blue and dark grey of his _buir’s_ helmet.

Din sank down on the floor, swallowing the guilt back as he brushed dust off the neglected beskar. At least the controlled environment of the _Crest_ kept the beskar as shiny as the Night of A Thousand Tears when Din’s father died in front of him. Overcome with desperation and grief at that time, Din had fled to their ship and slammed the helmet in the compartment as he fled like a coward from Mandalore. That was the last time he’d laid eyes on anything belonging to his father besides the _Razor Crest_ herself.

It had been a decade since he laid eyes on his parent. Just that little gap of time was enough for him to start forgetting trace features of the face he rarely saw. On top of slowly forgetting his father, he treated the man’s helmet with neglect, not even giving him the basic honor of returning it to the Forge. 

Inevitably his thoughts wandered to the father he had before, the one whose blood he carried. The one his nose and jaw reflected on the rare occasions Din looked in the mirror. As well as the wavy dark hair and warm brown eyes of his mother, the few features he remembered besides her lullabies. He quickly forgot some features of the one who raised him to adulthood, but his own face would not let him forget the ones who came before his _buir_. The guilt was almost overwhelming. 

“Ehhmg?” Din jumped at his son’s inquisitive gibberish, the little one having climbed down from the seat and now stood in front of him. Three clawed fingers reached for the helmet in his hands, the little palm laid almost reverently on the cool beskar.

Din turned it around so the T-visor faced the child. “This was my _buir’s_.”

“ _Buir_...” the toddler repeated as he ran both his hands over the helm before looking back up at him, eyes wide with curiosity. At the edge of his mind, Din felt the child’s previous morose mood replaced by what he could only describe as concern.

He sighed. “I miss him.” Absentminded, he brushed the rest of the dust of the helmet. His son let out a violent sneeze that propelled him back to land on his rump. At the surprised expression on the kid’s face, Din could not help but let a chuckle slip out.

Mood lifted by the sudden change in atmosphere, he used the remnant of his cape to wipe the child’s nose. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you do that.”

On cue, the toddler’s tummy let out a particularly loud grumble. Like the typical youngling, his needs and emotions could change on a whim. 

Din couldn’t help laughing again. “You’re hungry, _ad’ika_?” He poked the child’s stomach. “ _Kai’tome_?”

“Kaah?!” His son’s ear’s perked in interest. “Kai? Kai?”

Maybe the kid was getting it. “Yes. _Kai_.” 

“Kaaai?”

“ _Tohm._ ”

“Tai!!”

“No, _‘tohm’_.”

“Tohm!”

Din grinned and gently poked him again in the abdomen. The child uttered a shrill giggle much to his amusement. “Yep! _Kai’tom_ …?”

“Kaitohm!”

“-- _Ay_ ”

The child let out a giggle accompanied by a broad smile and hugged Din’s father’s helmet to him, despite his tiny arms being barely able to wrap halfway around the helm. “Aaah!?”

“Close enough.” Din stood and passed the helmet to the little one. “We have some actual food now, I’ll get you a midnight snack.” He moved to exit the cockpit door then looked back at the child. “Don’t get used to it.”

“ _Kai’toh_!” the child affirmed. Despite the broken language, at least he spoke something these days. Din’s heart twisted upon hearing his son utter more than one syllable, especially that term being an attempt at Mando’a. It was not grammatically correct, but he got the gist. 

Most of all, the Mandalorian felt relief that his potential parting with the kid had slipped the little one’s mind for now. He fought the alleviation down so the child did not feel the worries constantly hovering at the edge of his thoughts. At least he could protect his son from that negativity. 

For now. 

“Buuah?” Din glanced down at the child, who patted the helmet in his hands. “Eh?” The child tapped the helmet again, with purpose.

After a moment Din caught on. “ _Buy’ce_.” He laid his own palm on the top of the helmet and encircled one of the child’s hands with it.

“Booh!”

“Yes,” he praised as he gently cupped his son’s hands in his own around the helmet. “ _Buy.._?”

“Booh!”

“-- _ce_.”

“Shay!”

Din ruffled the top of the child’s head with one hand, the other still on top of his father’s helm. “Good job.” He laid a hand on the helmet again. “ _Buy’ce_.” 

“Booh-eh?!”

Gently he placed the child and the helmet back on the copilot chair. He took special care to make sure the control panel was locked down before turning back and saying, “I’ll get us some food, be right back.” His son’s focus was entirely concentrated on the helmet, hands running over every carbon score mark and design on the helm.

Din let the child be absorbed in the object while he tiptoed to the entrance of the cockpit. Via their bond he caught on the child knew he left the room, but the impending promise of snacks was enough to get the toddler to back off.

The door slid open to reveal Cadir slouched against the door, causing Din to catch him before he toppled to the floor of the cockpit. The boy jumped awake at the contact, over-sized helmet plopping into the kid’s lap.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t—I couldn’t...”

“Bad dream?” Din knew all too well from personal experience how childhood trauma leaked into nightmares. Sometimes they still did for him, all the way back to the moment his parents hid him in the cellar. 

The Togruta nodded, eyes cast down. He did not cry, but Din could tell he struggled to hold back emotion. There was no telling what traumas lay in the Foundling’s past, let alone what the boy had experienced in the past few months on the run, seeing the Tribe that took him in fall one by one around him.

Din jerked his head towards the cockpit. “I was about to grab the little womp rat a snack before we catch some shuteye, want something?” Distraction seemed to work for his son when he had nightmares; the boy was still young enough where it might work for him as well. 

His lekku wiggled side-to-side as the boy nodded, still not looking up at the Mandalorian nor making a move to stand. Din offered out a hand. “C’mon, go sit in the cockpit and I’ll be right back. Don’t touch any of the buttons.” He added that last point as an afterthought, not knowing the bounds this kid’s curiosity went. Might as well play it safe.

Cadir took his offered hand and let himself be guided into the cockpit. Din nodded at him one more time then descended the ladder into the main hold. He glanced at the chairs where Naomi previously lay, only to see them vacant. Puzzled he looked around the small area, then rested on her form. She was curled on the cot around Zyra, who nestled under the teen’s chin. Both softly snored. 

Putting his hunting skills to good use, Din silently crept to the galley area, opening the container of goods given to them by the Bothan merchant. He avoided the dry fruit and sugary foods, settling on jerfer bread. At the center was a yogurt, cheese-like substance that melted when heated after a few droplets of water. Carefully to not make noise he turned the faucet on barely flowing. Within seconds the tow pieces of jerfer rehydrated and heated up, the steam wafting from them.

As an afterthought, he reached into the refrigeration unit and took out the jug of blue milk. He poured some into the only two cups he owned, then headed back up to the cockpit, journey made a tad more difficult by the snacks and drinks he juggled in one arm.

“Kaai!” his son cooed in glee, both hands reaching up and making grabby gestures. Even Cadir perked up at the smell of the food. Din noticed the boy sat in the copilot chair, turning Din’s _buir’s_ helmet over in his hands. 

“That belonged to your _buir_ and my father,” he explained as he set one piece of bread and cup of milk on the dash in front of Cadir, and the other in front of the toddler. The latter dug in with glee, the stringy cheese center quickly making a mess on his mouth and face. 

Cadir ate as well, though with more reservation. “Really?” He ran a hand over the visor. “What were they like? What was it like growing up with my _buir_?”

“Siuan was the rowdy one.” Din sank to the floor to sit beside his son, using a gloved hand to wipe at the little one’s mouth. “Always testing her boundaries with _buir_.” He shifted back to the compartment where he found the helmet, taking out the bedroll as he originally intended before discovering his parent’s forgotten piece of armor. 

As he rolled out the palette between the two chairs in the cramped cockpit, he continued reciting memories of his sister and their childhood in the Tribe, making sure to stick to the funny memories that still made his chest swell with fondness. When he got the bedroll prepped, his son drained the rest of the blue milk from his cup and waddled over to the mattress, then plopped down, eyelids already drooping. 

Fatigue crept at the edges of Din’s consciousness, but he carried on with the stories of his sister. Eventually Cadir finished his snack and reluctantly approached the bedroll, Siuan’s helmet in tow, having reverently replaced the other helmet back on the passenger seat.

Cadir sat on the free side beside Din, whose voice at that point was growing hoarse with all the talking. As an excuse to leave more stories of his _vod_ for another time, Din methodically started to shed his armor. “Did Siuan teach you how to properly care for armor?”

The boy sniffled. “A bit.”

“I need to clean my armor from all that sewer water tomorrow, ask me then and I’ll show you how.” The impulse of his own offering startled the Mandalorian. His _adika_ had made him turn soft in the past half a standard year.

The Togruta nodded with an enthusiastic smile, broken by a giant yawn. Not making eye-contact, the young one asked, “Do I have to go back down?”

Din did not need Cadir to elaborate further—he knew a beskar-clad warrior symbolized _safe_ to traumatized Foundlings. Safety when they awoke from the nightmares that plagued them. He glanced at his father’s helmet at the sentiment, knowing he was exactly the same in the first year or two under his care. His own Foundling showed the same tendency.

“No, you can stay,” Din complied with Cadir’s request, then stood to remove the more bulky pieces of armor. Barely ten minutes passed before he removed all of the beskar sans helmet, it having been part of his nightly ritual for almost two decades.

When he turned back to the bedroll, his breath hitched. The tiny form of his son had migrated from the center of the bedroll and nestled close to Cadir’s side, who laid sprawled out on his stomach and snored almost as loud as Cara. The older boy’s arm draped over the younger, his other orange hand resting on Siuan’s helmet off the edge of the palette. 

_I really am getting way too soft._ At the moment Din felt more like a doting grandmother than a battle-hardened Mandalorian. But was the value of children as the future not also the _Resol’nare_?Or the Adoption Vow?

Din tried to not rustle the mattress as he sank down next to his child. The toddler’s ear twitched, then he nestled closer to Cadir. Unable to help himself, Din ran one bare hand over the child’s head before he leaned back against the wall panel beneath the console and covered the two children with the last spare tattered blanket he had. His undersuit was more than enough to keep him warm in sleep, the kids not so much.

His immediate surrender to slumber was more than enough evidence that Din had gone over thirty-six hours without a shred of sleep. Rest came easier upon the realization four of the youngest of his Tribe lived to see another day. 

They were not all lost. Foundlings are the future.

This is The Way.

@@@

Odd scratching followed by beeps echoed in his helmet, jostling Din awake. Two barely contained giggles prompted him to sit up. By instinct he held out his arms as his son tumbled into them from where he previously sat on his chest. Something blocked the peripheral on the right side of his visor. The child in his hold held a blue stylus, and on the other side of the cockpit sat Zyra, busily scribbling away on a pauldron. The incessant beep continued from the console, signaling a holo message with a pushed alert. Alarmed, Din sat the child aside and walked for the console and activated the message.

_Din and Green Bean,_

Of course it was Cara Dune. Since learning his name she’d taken to using it in messages containing text, also interchanging various nicknames for his son. Din briefly wondered what a bean was as he thanked the stars he had a decent digital firewall to encrypt his messages from prying eyes.

_Got your request yesterday. Almost got killed by that blacksmith Mando when I went down to look for her, along with two other blasters in my face._

Din re-read the last sentence to make sure he understood it right. Relief flooded him upon knowing at least two others of the Tribe not only survived, but joined their _Alor_ in the resource recovery of beskar and weapons.

_Karga is looking into Paz Vizsla, has to “manually delete all Mandalorian priority targets from the list” or some shit. Hasn’t gotten back to me, but knows you’re on the way. Make live comm contact before landing to show you’ve read this, made sure to make it prio to annoy you to answer it._

_Give the kid a hug for me. Miss you both._

_\--Cara_

Din’s shoulders slumped in solace from the message. Seeing they had dropped out of the first of three hyperspace lanes, the _Crest_ , he immediately pinged back to make a return message. The private channel pinged for almost a whole minute before confirmation. 

Cara’s image came up on the holo image, scowl on her face. “Almost as annoying as someone pinging me while I’m in the ‘fresher.”

“Bad time?”

“Nah, just some cranky Guildies who botched a job on Coruscant and I’ve had to deal with New Republic—“ she peered at Din, eyes squinted. “What is that on your helmet?”

Din scowled under the visor. “Just confirming that I’m about twenty-four hours away from Nevarro, I’ll take those coordinates when you can get them to me.”

“Yeah yeah, love you too.”

He tried to not let the casual language fluster him. Both equally aimless and miserable the past couple of weeks, Cara and he had bonded over their struggles via the messages and holo-comms. Helm only able to hide so much, the ex-shocktrooper still took notice of his discombobulated body language and took every opportunity to throw him askew. Din wrote it off as her way of showing camaraderie.

Tugs at his duraweave pants leg distracted him. “Laah!” his son requested, one hand extended towards the hologram of Cara.

“ _Laam_ ,” Din corrected softly.

“ _Laam! Laam, Buir_!” The child gave a little jump, stylus still gripped in the hand he pointed to Cara with.

Din crouched and picked him up. A grin flashed across Cara’s face. “Did he say something?”

“He wanted me to pick him up.” He leaned forward to let the toddler swipe his hand out at the holo image, who let out a babble at Cara’s wave.

“What’s his favorite word?”

“ _Nayc_.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that mean?”

“No.”

Laughter burst from her. “This is why I can’t do the kid thing; definitely couldn’t be Mandalorian.”

“I don’t even think I can most of the time,” Din confessed, voiced strained as he caught Zyra in the side of his field of vision doodling away on his chestplate.

“You doing okay?” Cara asked, voice more serious. 

“Yeah...” All that conspired over the past few days was more than he wanted to describe. “I’ll explain when I get there in a standard cycle.”

“Nothing wrong with the green bean?”

“Thought you didn’t do the ‘kid thing’?” Din gestured at his son as the child cooed and mimicked Cara’s hand wave from earlier.

Eyebrow raised, she pointed out, “He got past your armor somehow.”

The Mandalorian flinched as he heard Zyra furiously scribble on said armor. His son’s attention shifted to the girl, then to the stylus he still held. Gleeful chirps signaled he was about to leap down, but Din set him down first. The child toddled over to Zyra, who held out a third stylus to him and half the chestplate. 

“I should go,” Din said, cringing at the sounds of both younglings’ graffiti on his beskar.

“See ya in twenty-four hours,” Cara responded. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

“No promises.” The corners of his mouth tugged up in a smile behind the visor as he nodded once and cut the feed. Immediately he wiped any trace data of their interactions as always, a precaution that served him well so far. As the covert slowly regrew, the fierce need to hide and protect the remnants took precedent. Any hint at their existence had to be wiped from records. Republic, Empire, bounties, the Hutts—did not matter. All had someone that floated from one organization to the other. No doubt he was seen as one to those in his Tribe, especially after how things turned out.

“ _Buir_?” His son once again tugged at his pants leg, ears drooped. Trepidation from the little one lingered at the edge of Din’s thoughts.

The Mandalorian rose to full height and stretched, trying to stifle his worries lest it trouble the little one. “How did you get up here?” he asked of Zyra.

She paused in her coloring to look up at him, then pointed down at the suspiciously silent main hold below. Since yesterday’s ordeal the girl had yet to utter one word. Thankfully an activity such as doodling all over his armor incited a rare small smile and a giggle slipped out every now and then. Maybe she would speak again soon, especially since recently his own son was suddenly eager to absorb any verbal speech.

Din sighed and let the two young Foundlings continue their coloring to check on the status of the deck below. When his feet touched the floor—only covered by the footies of his duraweave undersuit—he turned around to see his weapons cabinet open, Naomi and Cadir enraptured by his arsenal. 

Cadir jumped almost a foot in the air when Din cleared his throat and leaned forward to the control panel to close the doors. Naomi however braced her good shoulder against one of the closing doors, methodically rifling through the various weapons with the same arm as she casually kept the door from closing. 

“What are you two doing?” He kept his voice steady, but low and stern. 

“The covert gave you a lot of resources,” Naomi grunted, turning so her back propped oped the door. In her hand she held Whistling Birds ammunition refills.

Din strode forward and closed his hand around the cartridge, easily able to remove it due to her immobile left arm. She let go and they both backed away from his weapon compartment. “You could have asked.” He pocketed the Birds, only for her to crouch and wrangle the disruptor rifle in her good arm.

“You use illegal weapons too. _Alor_ give you this?”

“No.” It was easy to take the rifle from her one-armed hold on it. “But she can make the ammunition.”

A loud _thunk_ from above interrupted them. Din made sure to place the rifle over his shoulder first before he bolted to the ladder; he knew Naomi would open that weapon’s storage right back up, but at least he had the more dangerous things on his person. 

The cockpit door was still open, so he was able to look inside once his head peeked over the floor. For a moment he saw nothing, only heard his child’s delighted cackling. When he set aside the disruptor rifle and stepped into the cockpit, he looked back and forth and only noticed Zyra over by his messy pile of armor, who had a smile on her face and was laughing at something above and behind Din. He followed her gaze, stomach plummeting to his feet.

Laughing with glee, his son dangled from the upper console near the ceiling, arms clutched around one of Din’s vambraces, the grapple line wrapped around a beam above. Joyful warbles bubbled from the child as he swung forward to bat a hand at some of the flashing buttons on the upper panel. 

In the corner of his eye, Din saw Zyra rummage through his pile of beskar, then take out his other vambrace to examine it.

The one with the flamethrower. 

Din darted at the girl and ripped the dangerous object from her grasp. “No!” He whirled around back to his son and pried his claws from the gauntlet, drawing him into his grasp. 

The impact and sheer disappointment from the child’s mind over their link made Din hunch over. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. “These aren’t safe.”

A tiny whine made him turn around to see Zyra crouching in the corner, lower lip quivering. Guilt washed over Din as he crouched and held out the vambrace she just held to show them to the two Foundlings. “These are weapons. They can hurt you if you don’t use them right.” He pressed the appropriate buttons, pointed the vambrace away, and a shorter burst of flames fired from it into the air.

Both kids jumped, eyes wide and startled at the stream of fire that dissipated when he immediately released pressure on the buttons, not willing to waste fuel. Next time he would make the effort to store these specific pieces of armor on the upper shelf he always did in the main hold. Last night he got lazy, exhaustion a pathetic excuse for his negligence in leaving them up in the cockpit with young children running rampant around the _Razor Crest_. 

Zyra ceased her timid cringe away from him, nodding once in affirmation she understood. At the edges of his mind, Din felt his own son was still slightly confused from his rash reaction. 

Din reached up to untangle his gauntlet from the upper console. “You could’ve fallen and split your head open,” he said to the boy, trying to emphasize _concern_ as the primary motivation behind the worries the child likely sensed that haunted his mind. “We will take another ride with the Rising Phoenix once we land somewhere we can do it.”

“Me too!” 

Din jumped at the outburst. Zyra peered at him, watery eyes wide with pleading. He sighed—Vivyc and the _Alor_ had spoiled the little girl.

“Of course,” he said softly as he ruffled her curly mop of bright red hair. He hoped he could keep this promise, he had already broken so many to the Tribe, to his loved ones. Made them all suffer, young and old.

If one little jetpack ride could make a traumatized Foundling talk again, he would keep that vow.

Beneath them, one loud blaster bolt echoed in the ship. Din was about to dash for the ladder, only for Naomi to call up, “It’s okay, it only hit the back of the chair.”

Din did not believe her, but allowed himself to lean against the wall and facepalm for a brief instant. His child cooed at him curiously, taking advantage of the proximity and using the stylus in his hand to scribble on his helmet. Din could not bring himself to scold the kids anymore at the moment.

Sighing again, he felt tempted to slump to the ground but restrained himself.

He wondered if he’d make it to Nevarro alive before these Mandalorian children ended him—cause of death most likely from a heart attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kih’parjai (no problem)  
> Kai’tome (food)  
> Buy’ce (helmet)  
> Laam (up)
> 
> Thanks for the patience. As stated before I had been ill and appreciate the understanding. It has made it slow, but steady. 
> 
> Y'all are the best, I appreciate all the praise and critiques.


	13. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara is happy for a change in routine when Din returns to Nevarro, but wasn't expecting just how much it'd throw her off. The more she learns of Mandalorian culture, the more questions she has. Din is EXTREMELY nervous to face the remnants of his Tribe, and is utterly exhausted and overwhelmed more than he's ever felt in his life.
> 
> Basically kids are a lot of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience everyone, I am sorry it has taken so long for this to be posted. Love y'all.

Cara stopped looking up every time the door to the cantina slid open. Karga’s sly comments were the last straw, making her stare pointedly into her pint glass. The increasing rowdiness of the drunk patrons and bounty hunters as the evening progressed forced her to restrain herself to one pint glass for the inevitable brawl. 

The doors slid open again, but the distinct jingle of ammo and armor she somehow memorized over their encounters was absent so she purposefully looked away and took another swig of her ale, warmed up by now. Whoever walked in sauntered up to Greef’s table, flush from success as most newbies were. 

More than once over the past few weeks the Bondsman Guild leader grumbled how almost none of the guild members were half the bounty hunter Mando was.

Inevitably her mind wandered back to Din, twelve hours overdue for his rendezvous on Nevarro. Punctual and the Mandalorian went together like Sand People and banthas. Even with his mind occupied and body injured, he was never late. 

Raised voices came from the other side of the bar at a table on the far corner. One human clutched a Rodian’s collar in one hand, a fist-full of Pazaac cards in the other. All Cara had to do was turn towards them and halfway rise up, hand hovering on her blaster to make them cease their conflict and sink back down into their seats. 

She sighed, sitting back down to swirl the tepid contents of her cup. When she focused on the glass sides in her foul mood, shiny grey metal reflected the lights of the cantina.

Her eyes darted up to see Din seated in the booth opposite her. More like slumped, his arms draped on the sides and helmet tilted towards the ceiling to rest on the back of the seat. Somehow he’d used the brief thirty seconds of commotion to slip into the cantina unnoticed despite the shiny beskar. He looked utterly spent, more so than the night they saved that tiny village on Sorgan. 

Fighting back the urge to ask what he had been up to the past two weeks, Cara instead resorted to her normal teasing. “You’re late.”

He grunted, not changing his position except to tilt his head forward to look at her.

“Rough past few weeks?” she asked, taking a sip of her beer before grimacing and setting it far to the side.

He let out a classic sigh. “More than you realize.”

For some reason he was evasive, even with her. Then she noticed the distinct absence of green ears hovering around him. “Where’s the kid?” She tried to sound unconcerned; after all she had an image to keep even in front of him.

“On the ship,” he replied, finally leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. The man seemed truly exhausted.

“He’s gonna fly that ship straight off to Wild Space.”

For the first time Din tensed. “He’s not alo--”

“Mando!” boomed Greef Karga as he approached their table, pulling a chair up to them from a nearby empty one. Cara was surprised Din let him clap him over the shoulder. “You look tired.” Leave it to the man to state the obvious to everyone. 

“Information on who I asked?” Din shrugged off his concern and sat up straight, visor turning to face the Guild leader. Greef took a breath to reply, but the Mandalorian continued in a hushed hiss. “Don’t say a name.”

“That’s what I was about to say, nothing under that--”

Cara broke him off with a yelp as something grabbed her calf. “What the hell?!” Her hand flew to her blaster, but no one stood beside her. Eyes naturally flew down as she peered over her seat, meeting two large dark brown orbs and a giant pair of green ears.

“Hey, little man!” she exclaimed, bending over to pick him up. This was the only kid in the galaxy to ruin her projected image of the rough and coarse warrior she tried to give off. She placed him on the table in front of her and ruffled his wrinkled, fuzzy forehead.

Armor scraped against the table as Din abruptly stood. “How—What?” he choked out, gloved hands slamming against the surface, startling the little one to let out a scared squeak.

At the sound the Mandalorian lifted his hands away as if burned. His abrupt reaction startled Cara; from the moment she talked to him via holocom days prior his odd behavior unnerved her.

“Watch the kid.” He exited the booth in a hurry. “I need to go check on the _Cre_ \--”

Metal pinged off metal as the Mandalorian cut off with a wheeze, shuffling back half a step.

“I’m sorry _ba’vodu_ , he’s so quick and right after the ramp closed he--” 

Cara tried not to visibly start at the sound of a young boy’s voice through a helmet modulator. The back of Karga’s head blocked her view as she craned her neck to try and see around Mando’s back.

“Quiet.” The Mandalorian’s tone was terse. He turned back to face the booth he sat in prior, grip on a small cloaked form barely taller than a Jawa. His hand firmly guided the youngling to sit in the seat before he sat back down beside him.

If Din seemed agitated before, he was in overdrive now. Cara could hear the click of the ammo belt strapped to his calf against beskar as his leg bounced under the table. Another quirk she’d log away to torment him with when he was less jumpy. Poorly timed jokes aimed at a Mandalorian could get her seriously hurt if she didn’t watch it.

As the boy sat against the booth, the back dragged the hood off the front of his head, a T-visor reflecting the lights of the cantina, helm embossed with a vivid green and a light teal. Din grumbled something in his language as he roughly tugged the hood back up to cover the top of the kid’s helmet, wrapping another spare drape around the bottom to obscure the chin of the visor so all that could be seen was a slim, horizontal gap where she assumed the boy’s eyes were. Din sat back up to face them, shoulders squared.

 _Ah_. The second littlest Mandalorian Cara had ever seen likely caused the haggard state of the normally stoic warrior. The man was affectionate enough from the interactions she witnessed between him and the green tyke, but parenting was definitely not his forte.

“Who is this...young man?” Leave it to Karga to make a contentious question that would obviously bother the man as his icebreaker. At least he turned down the volume of his voice a few decibels. 

Inhale audible through the vocodor, the boy went to answer but Din did it for him first. “My nephew.”

At least a dozen questions flew through Cara’s mind. There was so much she did not know about him, or Mandalorians in general. By Greef Karga’s expression the same confused thoughts swirled in him as well, though the ex-shocktrooper knew he lacked even the microscopic bit of filter she had. When he opened his mouth Cara shot him a glare and gave a kick to his shin. 

The Guild leader grimaced, but the side-eye he gave her told her he understood.

The little green child broke the tension by cooing and waddling over to the other kid in the booth. Tiny hands reached out for the hood, which Din gently swatted away and redirected him into a barricade of his vambraces, quickly pressing one button on his right gauntlet. Mesmerized, the toddler went to town pushing all the thankfully now inert buttons he could, letting out a little “ah!” every time one of them glowed green or red.

Din cleared his throat as his son continued to play. “The news on the Mandalorian, Karga?”

“No name to match, but one matching the description you gave me showed at least four different planets in the past five standard months.” Karga’s eyes kept darting between the infant and the youngling Mandalorian fidgeting in the booth.

“Planets?” Mando’s helmet turned a fraction towards the young Mandalorian, who tapped him repeatedly on the shoulder. Despite him not moving even Cara could feel his glare of _not now_ from clear across the table.

Karga took a moment to respond as the boy tapped Din’s shoulder again. When the Mandalorian pointedly ignored the boy, the Guild leader continued, “I thought you were smarter than to ask more for them verbally in this...” he wordlessly gestured around the cantina, “environment.”

“ _Ba’vodu_ ,” whispered the boy as best as he could through the fuzzy tone of his modulator. 

Din tensed and fully turned to him. “What?!” Any patience in the man was gone.

The cloaked youngling flinched, but leaned back over. To Cara’s amusement he cupped a hand around where his mouth would be, seemingly forgetting the helmet and cloak hid his lips well enough. Posture reluctant, Din leaned in to listen.

Whatever the kid said to him was enough to make him abruptly stand up again. “Share the details on the way to my ship, I have to take care of some...thing first.” Without awaiting replies from Cara or Karga he picked up the toddler and strode back out of the bar. The few patrons left stared as the beskar-clad warrior confidently cradled the young one to him, the cloaked figure of the boy jogging to keep up with him. Cara had to admit the sight was extremely odd without context, especially for a battle-hardened Mandalorian.

After they shared a brief glance Cara shrugged at Karga then stood, and both followed the irate Din outside the cantina. His pace was so swift they had to also jog to catch up to him.

When they drew up next to him, he spoke without turning to look at them. “The planets?”

Karga jumped at his sudden inquiry, then reached into the pocket of his jacket to withdraw a datapad. He tapped a few commands then passed it to Din, who shifted the child to the crook of one arm to take the datapad, still striding with purpose past the spaceport docking bay Cara thought his ship would be at. He must have landed further away from curious eyes. 

“The coordinates of the sightings of a Mandalorian fitting that description are in order to the most recent,” Karga explained.

After staring at the pad for a few moments he sighed. “ _Haar’chak_!” he growled, shoving the datapad back at Karga. The boy following him gasped at the statement—whatever Din said it must have been a curse or something. “What the hell, why did Paz go to Coruscant of all places? And Nar Shaddaa? What was he doing?”

“Is that where Uncle Paz is?” the kid questioned tentatively. 

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll tell _Alor_ \--”

The sound of blaster fire in the distance made him pause, the boy colliding with his back at the sudden stop. “Is that--?”

“I told you, _Ba’vodu_ ,” said the boy. Cara was amused at the almost exasperated tone he had with Din.

“What in the galaxy is she thinking?” Mando picked back up the pace, making a beeline straight for the source of rhythmic blaster bolts.

 _She_? Din was full of surprises tonight. Cara slid a glance Karga who returned it with equal bafflement, but thankfully kept his mouth shut as they trailed after him.

Soon the _Razor Crest_ came into view, hidden expertly behind a rocky outcrop. Light from inside illuminated the entry ramp of the ship, periodic blips of red reflecting off the far side of the vessel in time with the shots. 

“Hey!” The Mandalorian suddenly barked. He broke into a jog for the last few meters, rounding the rear of the ship. “HEY!”

Yet again another bizzare sight greeted Cara. A slim, fully armored Mandalorian stood in a one-handed stance with a blaster pistol in one hand. Her other arm was gathered in what Cara came to realize was a sling. She had a sneaking suspicion the material that trussed her arm was from the frayed cape Din wore, now noticing it was much shorter and the ends of it frayed. 

Upon closer examination, Cara figured the person was a young teenager, limbs gangly as many were at that age. She was impressed the now third youngest Mandalorian she’d ever seen did not flinch nor pause at Din’s harsh voice. 

The eldest Mandalorian ripped the blaster from her grasp. “What were you thinking?”

“That DE-10 was in bad shape and very dirty. So was like half of your weapon’s cabinet. I also tested the night vision systems of my helmet, they were wonky the other day.” Din looked at the blaster he held, turning it over slowly in his hand. “You’re welcome, _Ba’vodu._.” From the tone in her voice, Cara could picture the smug smile hidden under the helmet. 

“How many weapons did you remove?” Din asked. She could tell he fought to keep his voice even and low.

“All of ‘em, only got to really take apart and really clean maybe five.”

The Mandalorian shook his head and strode back to the ramp of the ship. “You did this around Zyra? Where is she?” There was an edge of worry to his posture and words.

“She’s smart enough to know not to touch them,” replied the teen. “She’s asleep right now.”

Din leaned into the entrance of his ship, shoulders finally relaxing as he saw whatever he needed to see, setting the infant down to the ground. Folding his arms, he turned back to address the girl. “You could’ve asked.”

She laughed. “You’d’ve said no. Besides, you didn’t tell us we were coming back to Nevarro til right before we landed, you’re not being honest either.”

The older Mandalorian sighed, gloved hand pinching at his helmet where the bridge of his nose would have been. Karga carefully approached him. “What is going on, Mando?”

“He rescued us on Carlac!” piped up the young boy, coming to stand in front of the Guild leader. “We all lived at the covert here before...” He faded off, obviously unable or unwilling to vocalize what happened. Cara got a good idea of what he went through from the evidence of the discarded armor in the sewers.

“Way more Mandalorians here than I realized,” mused Karga. “For a while I thought it was just you. Should’ve known when you got your beskar replaced so fast.”

Din hung his head. “’Were’ here,” he corrected softly.

“I’m going to the covert, or what’s left of it,” announced the girl as she roughly brushed past Din and wove between Cara and Karga. 

“Wait.” Mando gently closed a hand around her good arm. “You shouldn’t go to town alone.”

She tore her arm from his loose grasp. “I managed on Carlac ages without you or _Buir_ , I can do it here.” There was venom in her voice as she turned away. 

“At least wear the cloak, Naomi,” Din pleaded, causing Cara to look at him in shock. The man only begged once in front of her since she knew him, back when he thought he was going to die in that cantina. Cara bit her cheek to keep from laughing at him for being so out of character over a petulant adolescent. “I’m the only one of the Tribe most residents are used to seeing, I don’t want you to get in trouble you saw what happened on Carlac...” He faded off as the teenager stopped.

The younger Mandalorian grumbled something in their language, continuing her mumbled disgruntled words as she entered the ship for a moment, returning with a bundle of rumpled clothing Cara assumed was the cloak he mentioned. With one arm she awkwardly proceeded to put in on. Din stepped forward and reached a hand out as if to help her, but she swatted him away.

“Can I go now?” 

Din nodded once, but the girl had already turned her back to them and strode back towards the town. He turned his head to sky and sighed.

The boy who had remained mostly silent through the terse exchange spoke up again. “Does she know we might know where Uncle Paz is?”

“No,” he spat. “I should’ve...” He turned back to Karga. “Is there a way to narrow down coordinates on his most recent location so I don’t have to go on a wild porg chase across who knows how many parsecs?”

“Yes, but it might take a couple of days.” The Guild leader took out the datapad again and tapped the screen. “I have sources on Coruscant I can make contact with for surveillance footage or any rumors of a Mandalorian. Don’t see many these days so I’m sure I can find out something. That’s where he was most recently spotted.”

Din nodded again. “Thank you. I need to follow her to the covert before she gets into trouble.” He abruptly turned back to his ship and strode up the ramp where his son sat, ears and eyelids drooping as he let out a yawn. Cara hesitated before deciding to follow him into the ship.

The Mandalorian hurridly threw what she recognized as beskar armor into a sack, then tied a band of thick fabric around his neck and across his chest. The purpose of it was made clear when he crouched, picked up the baby and placed him snug in the sling. The carrier completely obscured even his obvious ears. Awkwardly he turned to Cara and cleared his throat. “Could you er...carry this bag for me? I’m uh...gonna have my hands full.” 

Wondering what else he needed to carry in addition to the child and the set of armor, she still obliged. Surprised at how much it weighed, she slung it over her shoulder. How did Din deal with wearing this stuff hours and hours a day? From a nearby crate he removed a bundle of fabric slightly larger than the one the teen put on before, carefully covering his helm. Before covering his chestplate he turned to face the cot.

When he crossed the floor of the ship, Cara saw why his hands would be full. So very carefully he picked up a tiny girl that not be older than three or four years, clasping her to the side of his chest opposite of the sling that carried his son. The girl mumbled as she stirred at the movement, but quickly settled her face to his shoulder and resumed her sleep as he used his one hand to wrap the cloak around him, entirely hiding the small children from view.

“I got the helmet!” piped up the hooded kid as he darted to the bed and picked up a gleaming crimson and copper helm, an elaborate design splayed across the visor that made Din’s look plain in comparison.

“Just be sure to keep it under your cloak,” The Mandalorian reminded him in a tired tone.

Cara could not help voicing some of her curiosity. “Why does that helmet have such colors and designs while your armor’s so….” She gestured at him.

“’So’ what?” Din turned to face her, form comically bulky and shapeless due to the little ones nestled and hidden away.

“Plain?” she ventured after a beat.

The Mandalorian huffed. “Haven’t had time to get it painted since I got my sigil, and the artist...” At a strange noise from the boy through his modulator, he cut off his statement and Din turned his attention to the kid. “Let’s catch up to Naomi, pretty sure _Alor_ sealed off the main entrance.” His head turned to Cara. “How did you get in?”

Apparently making his armor not blind someone with its reflection was a story for another day. 

“Guess you didn’t notice Karga’s taking his sweet time fixing up the cantina?” These kids were obviously the source of his distraction; normally he noticed everything about his surroundings and in a normal state would have noticed the bar front for the Bounty headquarters barely stook together. “I went in through the sewer. Off hours, of course.”

“Lava flats it is,” grumbled Mando, changing his direction slightly.

Seeing that prodding at Din’s armor caused more stress than simple teasing, she tried to break the tension with a different approach. “So when did the _Razor Crest_ become a creche?” Din cleared his throat in a terrible effort to hide a harsh laugh. Progress.

To her pleasure she heard a giggle from the boy toddling behind them, much different from his sniffles moments before. He jogged to catch up to the two adults, between Cara and Din. “I’m not a baby like them, I don’t need a nursery!”

Cara thunked his forehead with her middle finger and thumb, finger clanging off the beskar. “Didn’t think so if you wore that.” Damn Mandalorians, they made her way too soft. Ironic for one of the most feared warrior cultures in the galaxy. The more she learned about them, the more depth she realized their culture delved into. Way more than any of the famous tales of someone like Boba Fett or the Mando of Nevarro that walked beside her.

Atmosphere lightened, she continued her relentless taunts. “I think you took that knock on the head from an E-Web better than four kids, I’m worried you’re gonna just keel over at any moment.” She repeated the thumping gesture she did to the kid to Din’s helmet, short fingernail pinging off the metal.

“ _Ba’vodu_ , you got hit by an E-Web heavy repeating blaster?!” 

Cara blinked in surprise, steps faltering for a moment. Evidently Mandalorian younglings learned lots at quite an early age.

Beside her, Din huffed once more. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I guess you didn’t tell him about the TIE fighter you took on with just a jetpack?” Cara loved putting him on the spot, mainly because it made the stoic warrior falter so much in the spotlight. She also wanted to see how much this new kid knew.

“Really?!” If the boy did not have the helmet and cloak, Cara was sure the pair of eyes under there were wide with wonder and a hint of admiration.

“It...It was necessary.” The Mandalorian increased his speed, a nonverbal sign that conversation was over. This briskness continued silently until Cara dared to break it again.

“You’re in such a hurry.”

“I’m tired, and my arms are even more tired,” he fired back without hesitation. Maybe her prod was a tad too hard. Keeping her sass down was difficult, even more so with a person she was used to shooting the shit with.

Soon enough after uncomfortable silence they reached the entrance of the lava flats—the place where IG-11 sacrificed himself so they could flee Moff Gideon’s forces. Cara noticed Din’s free hand beckoned to the boy to walk closer, right between her and him. His body purposefully blocked the view of the skeletons in stormtrooper armor scattered everywhere, some half-melted or encased in lava that splattered on them. 

There was a ledge less than two feet wide that could be traversed slowly if they moved sideways and single-file. Din’s free hand was preoccupied hovering by his blaster, so Cara was surprised when she felt the boy willfully reach out for her own free hand. She obliged as they tiptoed over the precipice that could send any of them into burning magma, the small one’s grasp tightly clasped to the gap between her thumb and pointer finger. 

As soon as they reached solid lava rock meters wide he released his grip and jogged to join back up with his uncle. She clenched and unclenched her hand a bit as she followed Din’s leading stride to the Mandalorian covert, not used to someone willing to show her such trust, especially a young child. Maybe it was a hint to how much the boy entirely trusted Din. Which was funny—he’d never mentioned the boy or anything about his Tribe once in passing conversation to her. 

After ascending the tunnels to the sewers, Din halted and turned to her. “Can you and Cadir keep an eye out here? I see three heat signatures in front of us and one behind.” He crouched as best he could with the bulk of the kids in front of the boy which Cara now knew as Cadir, starting to loosen the sling that held his son to his chest. “See that crevice?” The Mandalorian pointed at a tiny crack in the wall that an adult could not fit in, but a kid definitely could. “You should hide there with Zyra and my _ad’ika_ ‘til my friend Cara here or I say it’s okay. Understand?” 

The green bean gave a small protesting grunt as he removed the sling and lowered it into Cadir’s waiting arms. When he tried to lower the girl, she clung closer to his neck. Din’s helm tilted slightly up to Cara; even with the helmet there she could tell the pleading in his body language. She reached over and carefully pried the little girl away from him. The toddler mumbled and stirred, but as soon as she felt the coolness of Cara’s shoulder armor she settled and mimicked a similar loose grip around the shocktrooper’s neck.

Din grasped both sides of the boy’s obscured helm, metal clinking as he pressed his helmed forehead to Cadir’s for a split moment. The kid stiffened, then leaned into the contact. “Understand, _ver’dika_?” Din repeated.

“ _L..Lek_!” From the boy’s reaction and Mando’s serious attitude, whatever gesture they just shared meant a lot more than Cara comprehended. 

Din backed away and clasped the kid on the shoulder. “Good. Stay here.” He looked up to her. “Keep them safe, someone is about one-hundred and fifty yards behind us and gaining.”

Cara nodded and drew her blaster, showing she was ready for whoever followed them and whatever approached. When Din turned to walk down the rest of the tunnel ahead, she thought she almost heard a “thank you” from the warrior as she saw Cadir slide into the space Din pointed at. When two small orange hands reached out, she shifted the restlessly sleeping little girl to them despite her whines. 

All the kids hidden, Cara’s combat mode took over as she took a defensive stance, repeating blaster aimed down the path they just walked.

@@@

Din did not know why he showed a rare moment of fondness with Cadir in front of an outsider such as Cara, but there were more pressing matters at hand. In such a brief amount of time he could only convey the seriousness of the situation to the boy he did a motion like that.

Or maybe it was more. This was his nephew—it took a Tribe to raise a child.

In the meantime, he noticed two figures approaching. Their confidence despite the wall parting them suggested these were in fact Mandalorian, but it did not hurt to be cautious. Intruders were killed on sight if they trespassed into the covert.

Air vibration around the blade alerted him to its approach from above so he could roll away. With one vambrace he deflected, the other he activated the flamethrower. He could not see the beskar his assailant wore to properly identify them, but they were definitely Mandalorian.

He took on a defensive rather than offensive fighting style. “Wait!”

“Din Djarin.” Another voice dripped with venom as they struck from his left with a second blade. 

Wishing he had some melee shields on his vambraces at the moment, Din had no choice but to duck and dodge both attacks. The lack of light still obscured his view, but voices remained solid in his memory. Yet before he could vocalize their names all three descended upon him with a fury. 

The most skilled and lithe of them managed to avoid a high rounding kick aimed at her head, actually having the gall to shoot him straight in the chest. It bounced off his beskar as expected, but velocity made him slam prone on his back.

A blaster muzzle pressed to his helm as others restrained his limbs. “ _Hut’uun_!”

Deep in the pit of his stomach Din felt rage roil at her statement. The worst insult anyone could throw at someone in Mando’a, and this person stated it with zero hesitation. He aimed a knee at the gap between her curiass and waist, only to have her immediately back off. In fact, all three Mandalorians’ restraint broke off as if ripped away.

“ _BUIR_!” Instantly recognizing the frantic voice of his son, Din scrambled to his feet. The three Tribe members did the same—twenty feet away from where they were moments ago. The little one ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, Cara right behind. Bringing up the rear Cadir held Zyra’s hand, flanked by Naomi.

So that was who came from behind.

Din scooped up the upset little one. “I’m okay, _ad’ika_." Stares from the three Mandalorians burned into the back of his head as he gave the child a few comforting bounces; whether it was seeing the Tribe’s fierce _beroya_ comforting an infant or the magic he used against them Din did not know nor care.

The momentary silence extended beyond normal as the baby quieted. Even the other younglings stared. Now that he thought about it, the child never displayed obvious powers in front of the rest of the kids. Cara was the only one who had. He did a few times in front of Cadir, in the heat of a fight or flight situation. Either way, his nephew never asked questions nor mentioned he noticed anything. But he did now.

The uncomfortable stillness broke with approaching footsteps from within the covert. Din held out a hand as he saw Cara’s hand drift to her blaster, shaking his head. Everyone in the Tribe knew those steps and soft brush of fur against metal.

“You’re late, Din Djarin.” The bronze of the Armorer’s beskar gleamed in the light beams from the surrounding helmets. She paused at the sight before her, helmet swiveling to the younglings. “Now I see why.”

“ _Ba’buir_!” The Mandalorian’s poncho ruffled as Zyra rushed by. In a rare, rare display of affection the Matriarch immediately knelt and spread her arms wide. The girl leaped into her grandmother’s hold, changing between shrill giggles and cries. Uncharacteristic for such an imposing figure, the Armorer lowered her head and hugged the child tightly to her for a long time, terms like “ _cyar’ika_ ” and “ _morut’yc_ ” and _bu’ad’ika_ , barely audible.

Finally their leader stood, Zyra secure in her hold as she approached Din. “How many?”

“Just us, I’m sorry I couldn’t find more I--”

The Mandalorian who got the upper-hand on him before interrupted. “This _hut’uun_ is the reason why you ask that question, _Alor_.”

“Watch your language around the young ones,” the Armorer lectured. “A Foundling is a Foundling, as you were Prushka. We did for Din’s son what we’d do for any children of our Tribe.”

Din’s arms tightened around his boy at the sentiment, warmth blooming within his chest at the acceptance for his sin. Via their connection, the kid eased into his mind and curled up within the presence of the Mandalorian’s thoughts, comforted by Din’s cautious joy. 

“And what,” Prushka spat, “is this Foundling?”

“A Mandalorian,” Naomi stated with zero hesitation as she stepped forward, stopping barely two feet away from the agitated woman in front of Din. “I am Clan-born, the last one in our Tribe. He has just as much value as me to us, matters to me just as much. He is my _aliit_ , and my cousin.”

“Mine too!” As always Cadir chimed in, coming forward to stand beside Din. 

Thankful for the helmet, Din remained silent. Even if he wanted to speak the words could not make their way around the lump in his throat. Especially Naomi’s words after she acted like she wanted to beat him to a pulp after exchanging just a couple of words. 

“This is the Way,” stated the Armorer quietly, running a hand through Zyra’s red curls. The remnants of the Tribe repeated the phrase in a cohesive murmur. “Come, the children must be hungry and tired.” She turned around and walked back into the Covert. Din did not move, waiting for the three Mandalorians to go first; he wanted to keep an eye on them even though he knew them.

When Din and the kids made to follow, he noticed Cara lingered behind, shifting her weight in unease. Din jerked his head towards the innards of the Mandalorian abode, granting permission to her unasked question. Twice she had journeyed in the Covert and left without saying a word of its existence to any. If the Matriarch wanted her to leave, she would have said so.

@@@

Lighting was low, but warm. Most of the debris, armor, and clutter had been cleared away, yet his old home felt empty. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow halls, once filled to the brim with Mandalorians armored to the teeth and Foundlings weaving in and out.

One thing that brought him up short was the scent that suddenly flooded his nose, making his mouth water as he entered the main area—the _karyai_. 

_Tiingilar_... The scent was unmistakable, fragrant chilies and spices floating in the air. Cara sniffed and immediately coughed at the same time his son sneezed. Din chuckled at their responses as he adjusted the sling to cover the infant’s mouth and nose. “Our food tends to be spicy.”

“No kidding,” said Cara. He briefly turned his head and saw her eyes blinking furiously as she brought up a hand to rub under her nose.

“ _Tiingilar_!” shouted Cadir, racing past them straight to the hallway containing the kitchen. Prushka disappeared down that corridor after him, as expected of the best cook in their Tribe.

“Are all Mandalorians secret masochists?” asked Cara.

The two remaining Tribe members—Reekho and Wregg were their given names he remembered, a married couple from Clan Ordo—snickered at her observation. “We have some rice to tone it down if it’s too much for you,” goaded Reekho. “Or you can eat whatever Prushka is whipping up for the toddlers.” Wregg quickly hushed her, his shoulders stiffening in embarrassment. 

“Cadir loves it, he’s eight years old,” Din goaded, relishing in the opportunity to have the upper hand on the shocktrooper’s verbal banter for once. Deep down he also felt relief that those who wanted him dead for betrayal and cowardice now accepted and welcomed him. 

His Tribe had not forsaken him. 

Unconsciously both hands came up to gently hug his son to his chest. The child cooed in content as he brushed Din’s mind, _comfort, safety, warm, aliit_ among the many feelings blossoming through their bond. The thought that superseded all of those emotions stood out the most. 

_Food. Now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba’vodu (Uncle)  
> Haar’chak (Dammit)  
> Alor (Leader)  
> Verd’ika (Little warrior)  
> Lek (Yeah)  
> Hut’uun (Coward, one of the worst insults you can make to a Mandalorian)  
> Beroya (Bounty hunter)  
> Ba’buir (Grandmother/Grandfather)  
> Cyar’ika (Sweetheart)  
> Morut’yc (safe)  
> Bu’ad’ika (Little Grandson/Granddaughter)  
> Karyai (Central living area of Mandalorian living quarters. Often the last bastion if the covert is raided)  
> Tiingilar (A spicy Mandalorian stew filled with meat and vegetables. So spicy that even the scent can make one’s eyes water)
> 
> Whew it has been a bit. In the last chapters when I mentioned I was ill about 5 weeks ago I had walking pneumonia. Healthcare workers I am friends with and work around suspect it resulted not from a cold or upper respiratory infection, but likely COVID-19. Probably won't get antibody tests like Germany has for 2 months or more so don't know for sure. Either way stay safe people! Stay healthy please! On top of that when I was at home recovering I got a stomach ulcer irritation from undiagnosed GERD (should've known, my father has it really bad and has had ulcers before) and it kept me down for the count for 2 more weeks. I am almost back to 100% now, working and writing. It feels cheesy to admit, but the Mandalorian and Clone Wars fandoms have kept me going and kept my spirits up so much. What I especially love about the Mandalorian fandom is that both people who have never seen Star Wars at all and Star Wars detail-obsessed freaks like me can all get along and adore this universe. It is a wonderful community and I love all of you.
> 
> Thank you so much for your kindness and feedback. I really appreciate it, it means more than you know.


	14. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara gets an introduction into Mandalorian cuisine, and Din reunites with familiar faces (T-visors?) that leave him blustered.

Din removed his son from the sling and set him on the ground. Immediately the child waddled as fast as he could down the hall after Cadir and Prushka, babbling excitedly. Then he approached Cara, who still hovered at the edge of the common area with the sack slung over her shoulder. “If you want some food you can stay for a bit...”

“You want me to stay, they make you nervous.” She smirked. Of course she was right, but he was not going to admit that. “Don’t worry, I’ve never tried Mando grub before so I’ll stick around for that.”

Din nodded once, then took the bag of armor from her and tossed it over his own shoulder. Best to get the delivery of the Armor’s son’s beskar out of the way rather than delay. He paused just outside the Forge room, taking a deep breath before entering.

He was not looking forward to this.

“Djarin,” the Matriarch acknowledged as she pressed the smelter down to the melted metal in a mold, the Forge echoing in the domed room. To the far side of the room sat a bundle of blankets, Zyra’s red frizzy hair barely visible in the fabric. “I assume you’ve not succeeded in your search for your son’s kind?” 

Din shifted his weight, the sack of armor not the only heavy burden he carried. “No.” The pause as the Armorer hammered the mold away from ingots of beskar gave him time to formulate a response. An _excuse_.

“There’s less information on Jedi than even us.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “And nothing on his species.” These excuses sounded pathetic when he voiced them, but if _Alor_ was disappointed in him, she did not say or show it. “I didn’t know I’d find the children, but felt they were more important than chasing nothing at the time.”

To his surprise she hummed in agreement. “Your decision was correct.” She glanced at her granddaughter in the corner before returning to her smithing. “As long as he is in your care, he is of our Tribe, your child, and we will shelter you wherever we choose to settle. Or if we stay here.”

“Stay?”

“Thanks to the events with Moff Gideon and the graces of Greef Karga’s Bounty Guild, we will have time to recuperate and regroup.” The Armorer withdrew a pauldron from the mold and set it aside. “The New Republic is paying closer attention to Nevarro as well, which will keep them away for the moment. But we will have to be just as vigilant, hide just as much from their eyes as well. We can’t trust this new government immediately, weak as they are.”

Din nodded in agreement, lost in the complicated post-Rebellion politics that affected innocent civilians trying to live their lives. For a few more moments he watched her, standing in silence and unsure how to approach the new subject that was bound to upset her.

“You have something else you wish to talk about.” It was not a question, but a statement. 

He walked forward to stand in front of the Matriarch, setting the bag of armor at his feet. Pulling loose the drawstring he opened it and saw both Vivyc’s and his _buir’s_ helmets at the top. Carefully he withdrew the crimson and copper helm, walked around the Forge, and held it out to the Armorer. 

She took and turned it so the T-visor faced her and stared for a few uncomfortable seconds. One hand ran over the front of the helmet, tracing the designs and contours in the steel. Her silence filled him with unease. After a moment she asked in a voice so quiet he fought to hear it over the Forge’s roar, “Do you know how Vivyc joined the _Manda_?” 

“Fighting for her.” Din nodded in Zyra’s direction. “For all of those kids.”

The Armorer nodded once, but said nothing. Instead, she rose the helmet to eye-level and pressed her own helm to it. Like before her voice was barely audible over the low roar of flames as she said what Din realized was the Remembrance. “ _Ni su’cuyi gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum…Vivyc_ ”

In respect he mumbled the statement with her. Other names flashed in his mind after; the first his parents. _Aine Djarin. Dion Djarin. Alasdair Vizsla_. Names of others of his tribe whose helmets he recognized in the haphazard pile flew in his thoughts, and others followed.

_Kuill...IG-11_.

Feeling intrusive Din turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder one last time. The Matriarch had moved from behind the Forge and over to Zyra, crouching in front of her and repeating the Keldabe kiss with her granddaughter before handing over Vivyc’s helmet. Din resumed his exit and made to round the corner. 

“Djarin.”

Halting, he turned back around to see the Armorer holding his father’s helmet. Tension returned to him, shoulders stiff. “Return it to the Forge. It collected dust on the _Crest_ anyway, deserves more respect.”

The Armorer tilted her head. “Come to me tomorrow morning. I will smelt it into ingots for your _ad’ika_ to use if he chooses to adopt the _Resol’nare_ , or if he needs funds.”

Din tried to not let his sharp inhale make it through his helmet. It took him weeks to finally realize the child was in his care, his _son_. Of course beskar was needed for a child taken in by a Mandalorion. But did he even want or need it, especially if reunited with his people? 

He had not even asked this person if he wanted to be his child. 

A trill at his boot distracted him. The little one clung to his shoe, ears drooped and eyes brimming with tears. _Don’t leave me_. The intent was clear over this...mental tie they shared. He could feel the Matriarch watching him as he crouched and picked up the toddler before exiting the room.

“ _K’uur, ad’ika_ ,” he murmured as he brought a hand to his back. “I’m not going anywhere.” Through their bond he sent reassurance as much as he could. Din could not help but feel the comfort he projected was a thinly veiled lie. The child knew more than he let on. 

Immediately the kid relaxed, then the tips of his ears twitched as he turned around in Din’s arms, leaning forward with great interest as they got closer to the common room. 

Prushka had already brought out the food, set up at the center table. Due to meager supplies, traditional _shuner_ bread was replaced with rehydrated _haashun_ bread. Hopefully they had some extra they could spare for the _Crest_ to give at least one other option besides ration bars. Rice and a soup completed the spread. 

”Kaaai!” Din looked down and saw his son reach one finger towards where Wregg and Reekho spooned their portions on their plates. “Kai?” the infant repeated, looking up at him with a questioning stare.

“ _’tohm_ ,” said Din as he walked towards the table and grabbed a couple of bowls and a plate, grinning under his helm. 

The little one eagerly stretched for the bowl as Din held it out of arm’s reach. “Kai’tohm!” Both hands now made grabbing gestures at the bowl.

“ _\--ay_. He spooned a generous portion of the delicious smelling _tiingilar_ on his plate. There was less variety of vegetables in it than normal, and only a few chunks of meat. It was better than anything he’d had in months.

“Kaiomay!” His boy sounded triumphant, continuing to extend his arms at the food.

Din smiled under his helm as he crouched to place him on the ground to free up a hand. “Closer. You’ll get it one day.”

“You were one of the last people in the Tribe I’d expect to adopt a Foundling,” said Prushka from beside him, picking up a plate and bowl for herself. “Let alone a baby.”

He tensed but handed the serving spoon to her. “You aren’t the only one.” With another spoon he dished rice on the side of his plate, trying not to let her earlier insults and physical attack taint their interaction. It was hard to tell if what she just said was praise or an insult. Maybe it was both. 

“Kai!” squeaked the kid at Prushka as he tapped her boot, having given up on Din immediately giving him food upon demand.

“ _Kai’tome_.” corrected Prushka. “Not only do you have a Foundling, you spoil him.” She scooped rice on her plate then pinched off a bit, crouching to his son’s level as she popped the small chunk of rice in his mouth. The child trilled in contentment while chewing on the warm food.

“ _Kaysh guur' skraan_ ,” she stated as she tapped the little one’s nose with her forefinger.

Dry humor was her expression of affection, something that took Din a few years to understand and she still threw him off. “He deserves to be spoiled,” Din said as he ladled soup into the two bowls. “I don’t think his life was that good before I...Found him.” Nevermind he relinquished the kid to Imperials and hastily patched up his mistake, he let that go unsaid.

For a moment he pondered where to go and eat, wondering if he should return to his room or sit with Cara and feed his son first. To his surprise he saw Naomi with her hood on and low, obscuring her features from sight. To her right sat her helmet. Reekho and Wregg too had hooded cloaks on, but both faced away from the table. Still young enough, Cadir wore no helm and vigorously chowed down his meal.

“With us constantly changing watch shifts and stocking things up, the only time we get together is meals.” Prushka passed by Din to the table and set her plate down. “We adapted.” He averted his eyes as she draped her hood over her head, holding it in place as she eased her helmet off from underneath it.

“We did the same thing back on Carlac,” said Naomi around a mouthful of food.

Din felt the urge to correct her bad manners, but restrained himself in the presence of adults in his Tribe. These kids were making him into scolding mother.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, the Armorer entering the room closely followed by Zyra. Din’s blood ran cold when he saw her horned helm tucked under one arm, face hidden by fabric. Never had he seen their leader without her helmet, even before the Purge when she was just an armorer apprentice. Technically he did not see any of her features to even identify her as a human. She sat her helmet on the far side of the table and proceeded to serve Zyra and herself. 

Something about this felt not exactly _wrong_ , just unnatural. Within a Clan this was normalcy. Those present in the room numbered less than half the size of many Clans, maybe this was another reason why they shared meals. The Tribe was basically a family of survivors.

Tiny fingers rattled his calf bandoleer. “Kaimay!” Din restrained a chuckle at the kid’s attempt to speak, it was almost too endearing. Prushka showed no such hesitation and laughed, voice absent of the vocoder as she scooped a bit of soup from her bowl and offered it to his son. 

Always accepting of anything slightly resembling food, the child accepted and greedily gobbled it from the spoon. Attention easily redirected like most his age—the kid taught Din numbers were relative—he reached out and ran his small three-fingered hand over Prushka’s helmet. 

“Boosh.”

“ _Buy’ce_ ,” she corrected softly, caressing the child’s hand with her own briefly before returning to her food. She spooned up some more rice and offered it to to him, which he ate up immediately. 

Din glanced at Cara, noticing her awkward posture as she stared at the plate before her. The entire experience was new for him too, so he could barely offer comfort in this scenario. 

Naomi took care of that for him. “Wonder if the _aruetii_ can handle this stuff?”

“I guess you’re talking about me.” Cara gave a grin in challenge before digging in. Her eyes widened for a brief instant before she sat back and hid her surprise with great skill, not completely wiped out due to the spice. But he could tell she struggled.

Din smiled to himself and ducked away, placing the hood over his head and removing his helmet. As he put the helm on the table he exhaled the breath he held, feeling naked as he sat down next to Cara. “Spicy?”

His skin crawled as he noticed her stiffen at his voice without the vocoder. For quite a few seconds she stared at him, mouth agape. She then focused on her plate with such concentration that Din knew she was trying to redirect the awkward situation. He did the same, not used to such camaraderie. 

“I can handle it,” Cara boasted, taking some of the bread and scooping some more of the food into her mouth, immediately following with a heaping spoonful of rice and generous gulps of water.

Naomi laughed and turned to Prushka sitting across from her. “Got any of the hot sauce?”

Prushka grumbled as she revealed and slid a bottle across the table, filled with liquid that was a dangerous red in color. Din salivated at the sight, having been without a Mandalorian home cooked meal in almost a year. He relished in Cara’s astonished stare as Naomi proceeded to shake the bottle a couple of times over her dinner, followed by him reaching out for the bottle and doing the same. With some of the bread he stirred in the sauce, gently swatting away his son’s enthusiastic gestures for the food. 

“I think it’s too hot for you,” he informed, but the child still stretched for it. Din sighed and scooped up a bit with some rice and offered it to him.

The toddler eagerly took the whole bite and chewed with enthusiasm then paused, black eyes widening. To Din’s surprise he trilled in a noise he reserved for joy, swallowed the food and reached his hands out for the container of water. Din chuckled and held the cup for the child to drink from.

“Don’t think you’ve ever laughed like that once around me, let alone without that bucket on your head,” Cara observed.

“He’s not done that around many of us, even though we’ve been around him a much longer time than you.” Prushka’s tone was clipped as she poked at her food with more aggression than necessary. “Never thought the fierce _beroya_ Din Djarin would ever be swayed by an infant.” She had resorted back to her earlier sour mood for some reason.

Din let her ruminate by herself, turning back to Cara and offering her the bottle of hot sauce. He shook it temptingly in front of her face. “You won’t be having the true Mandalorian culinary experience without it.” Prushka sighed—he could practically hear her rolling her obscured eyes. Ignoring her he continued, “The kid even likes it.”

He scooped up more food for the child and offered it to him, who took it with glee. As before he reached for the glass immediately after. It was still spicy for him, but he seemed to enjoy it. If the kid could stomach raw frogs, Din guessed he could handle this too.

Cara scowled and snatched the bottle from him, opening it and dribbling it on top of her food. Din noticed she made an effort to show that she put more on her food than the others.

Naomi then reached over and took the bottle and added more to her food, making sure to display to Cara that she took a big bite. The glass of water beside her remained untouched.

Cara grumbled, poured more sauce on her plate until she had as much as Naomi, and took just as big a bite. For someone not used to cuisine she remained stoic as she chewed. The only sign of discomfort she displayed was a twitch of her hand closest to her water, but she restrained.

In turn Naomi grabbed the bottle and proceeded to shake more of it out. Din sat back and watched with amusement as this went on for a couple more passes of adding spice to their dishes. Finally Prushka interrupted them, standing to whisk it off the table before Cara could grab it again.

“We don’t have much of this stuff, don’t waste it.” With that she stalked back down the hallway towards the kitchen area.

“What crawled up her ass--” Naomi began to ask before Din cleared his throat and pointedly tilted his head at Cadir, then shrugged.

“Dunno.”

Cara snorted. “Oblivious as usual.” Her voice was strained a bit and she sniffled once.

“What?”

She waved a hand in dismissal and smirked. “I’ll tell you later.” 

Confused at her cryptic response, he turned back to feeding the kid soup and the _tiingilar_. Despite having to drink more water than normal, the kid kept at it and looked to be enjoying something other than live amphibians or ration bars.

Prushka returned shortly. When she sat back down he saw she sat slightly closer to him for some reason. She placed another bottle in the center of the table, this one a much darker, dangerous looking red. “This is the real _hetikleyc_ stuff.”

Both Cara and Naomi immediately reached for it, but Naomi was quicker. Her application of sauce was much more conservative than before, only a couple of shakes before passing it to Cara. Not to be outdone, Cara made sure to put more on her food. 

When she shook the bottle a seventh time Din reached out and stilled her hand, carefully prying it away. “This gives so much nose-burn I even don’t use it much til I’ve built up...resistance. And I’ve not eaten Mandalorian food in months.”

“Neither did I, and I can handle it just fine,” Naomi said with her mouth full yet again.

Cara frowned at him but took a large bite anyway. Her eyes widened and she did falter this time, a fist briefly clenching and unclenching on the table as she obviously struggled with the urge to gulp down water.

To his surprise Prushka laughed and reached for the lava-in-sauce -form and put more of a portion than Cara or Naomi on her plate. Much more. Unlike Cara she did not even flinch as she ate multiple spoonfuls in a row, not reaching for her glass as well.

“I did not know we had any of that left,” spoke up the Armorer for the first time since she sat at the table. “I would like some as well.” Prushka seemed startled, but passed it to her.

Cara took one more bite then relented, finally grabbing her glass of water and chugging down half the contents. After she sniffled and wiped her nose.

“Hah.” Naomi said. “I win.”

“Hmm,” hummed the Armorer. She still nonchalantly dumped more of the sauce on the remainder of her food, turning the _tiingilar_ from a bright orange to red. Methodically she ate without hesitation, clearly having won this unspoken battle. Cara soldiered on and cleaned her plate, as did Prushka with much less struggle.

Prushka stood after Din took his last bite and he shifted his now sleeping son to a more comfortable position. When she took her plate he made to stand to follow her to wash his dishes, but she took them from him without word or complaint. She passed by Cara and picked up Naomi’s, Cadir’s, Reekho’s, and Wregg’s. The Matriarch was still eating, arm around Zyra who leaned and slept against her grandmother. Prushka turned and headed down the hall not uttering a word.

Cara pointedly looked at Din and waggled her eyebrows, clearly more amused than upset with Prushka’s obvious snub. Whatever she was trying to suggest was completely lost on him, clearly she understood something he did not.

“I’m tired, I’m going to sleep in a real bed for the first time in forever,” announced Naomi, stretching and letting out an exaggerated yawn. “You should sleep too, Cadir.” Some of the rough Vizsla exterior she portrayed to others did not apply to the Tribe members she fought to survive with over the past few months.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sounding oddly sad. “I’ll go in a minute.”

“I need to get going too, Greef’s always getting on to me for getting a ‘late start’ so I need to get back to my apartment,” Cara said, standing as well. “Where should I wash these dishes?”

“I’ll take them on my way back to my room!” offered Cadir, sliding off his chair and taking them from her, clearly pleased to be helping with something. 

“I’ll walk you back to the entrance of the Covert, these tunnels are a maze,” said Din.

“Ever the gentleman.” Cara grinned at him. “Gonna escort me arm-in-arm? Flaunt me in front of Prushka?”

Where did this come from? She was teasing him, that much was obvious. Why bring up Prushka? For some reason Reekho and Wregg snickered too.

Cara facepalmed. “Stars you are dense sometimes.” She patted him on the back. “I’ll tell you on the way out.”

Bafflied, Din adjusted his hold on his sleeping kid and walked beside her. Once they left the center room, he asked, “Explain to me about--” he gestured with one hand in the air, “Whatever you see going on.”

Cara playfully nudged him with an elbow. “I don’t even need to see her face to see she wants you. That’s why she was so mad when you first came back.”

“ _What_ in the galaxy are you talking about?”

“She’s had this crush for a long time I take it. Didn’t even bother hiding when her helmet pointed down to watch your ass every time you walked in front of her.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder. “Even the Mando couple noticed it, bet you the blacksmith does too and just isn’t saying anything.”

Flabbergasted by her observation, Din remained silent for a bit. True, Prushka and he joined the Tribe at the same time, both sharing their birth planet together and losing family in the same battle. Despite Din’s shyness they did befriend each other over their shared origins, even doing a few hunts together before the Purge. 

Maybe there had been something, he preferred missions with her over Paz, or anyone else in the Covert. She was lithe, quick, precise, and a fierce warrior. From what he remembered of her face before she swore the Creed and donned the helmet she was human, with olive skin and long dark brown hair paired with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. There was some attraction there perhaps, but the Purge got in the way of any thoughts of young love or relationships from Din’s mind as he devoted his whole life to one of a lone bounty hunter.

Cara broke the silence between them. “Anytime you even turned to look at me she got madder and madder.” She cackled with a wide grin. “It was very funny and you didn’t notice it and that made her more mad.”

“What do you think about that...jealousy?” He wondered why that was the first question in his mind. Why was he concerned over Cara’s feelings in this situation? The past few months had been a whirlwind of social interaction he was not used to.

“I mean sometimes I’ll go after your type but most of the time prefer the company of another.”

“What is your type?” Din goaded, hoping he was not too forward. 

“More like that widow you were pining over on Sorgan. If she looked at me the way she looked at you I’d be all over that.”

Din snickered. “You should go after Prushka then. Omera looked kinda like her.”

“So you have a type too, I see.” Soon enough they reached the entrance. “I don’t want to take her from you, but I just might if you don’t jump on that sooner or later if she’s still staying on Nevarro. Won’t get to see that face though, she sounds pretty if you’re comparing her to Omera.”

“The last time I saw her face we were both fifteen, so I can’t know how she looks now. I assume her hair is shorter, for the helmet. My sister did the same with her own hair after she swore the Creed.”

Cara ruffled her own locks. “Short hair not attractive to you? Because of your sister?”

“N—no...not necessarily.” Why was he having this awkward conversation about who he was sexually attracted to? Women were strange sometimes. Especially the woman in front of him.

Either way Cara seemed amused at his flustered justifications. She patted him on the shoulder again. “Don’t worry, from how she acts around you I won’t be taking her attention from you anytime soon even if I tried. That girl has it worse for you than Omera did, and I can tell it without seeing her face.”

Din remained quiet at her revelations to Prushka’s behavior, contemplating. 

“Anyway, I need to get going and I know where to go from here,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it from Greef if I sleep in tomorrow.” They clasped arms in farewell. “I’ll keep you posted on the search for that other Mando. Keep me posted on your...progress with your admirer, if any.” She winked and exited the Covert.

In his arms the child shifted, but remained asleep. Din stood there for a moment, trying to adjust to the new information Cara unloaded on him. Not that he would act on anything—he had more important things to worry about at the moment. Still, he’d have to tiptoe around Prushka even more now.

The fatigue of the past few days caught up all at once. Hopefully he could scrounge up a mattress to drag back to his old quarters. 

Before he could begin his search, Reekho and Wregg approached, both carrying weapons on their person likely for watch duty.

“We found a cot for you and put it in your old room, and got some spare blankets and things here for you,” said Wregg. “All the cribs for younglings were broken when the Imps came here and sacked the place, sorry about that.”

“I—“ Din couldn’t voice it, so settled for “Thank you.” Not even in Mando’a, such a shame. Either way neither of his Tribe members seemed to care nor blame him for the Covert’s destruction. They both nodded once and passed by him, heading towards the rear entrance. Taking a deep breath he turned to his door and opened it.

The room was sparse, which was usual for the Tribe’s provider. But it was even more so, just a bed and table. But it was a bed, a real bed. Din gently placed his son on the bed and proceeded to remove his armor, limbs heavy with exhaustion making the process take longer.

Finally shedding his undersuit he crawled into bed, giving a tender caress to his child’s ear as he curled around him and immediately surrendered to sleep. For the first time in almost a year he slept in comfort in the Covert.

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The familiar food warmed and filled Cadir’s stomach. It almost made him comfortable, safe. But for some reason he could not stop his instinctual response to tense at a loud noise, to pause any action to discern approaching footsteps. In the past this would have been considered good Mandalorian training, but he seized up almost every time. 

Except the kinrath on Carlac. When he saw the stinger ready to strike his new cousin, he felt disconnected from his body. The whole encounter baffled him. Before that at one moment the kinrath queen hovered over him, the next he was forty feet away. As if someone protectively pushed him away from the fight. The proboscis aimed at the infant, Cadir felt all fear melt away in exchange for determination. 

It was all a blur he still did not understand. There was something odd about the little green infant, but he was a Mandalorian. And not just any Mandalorian, but one related to him in a bond thicker than blood.

The encounter kept replaying over and over again in his head when his mind was not distracted by something else. It was hard to regulate his breathing in idle moments, only calmed by the presence of the members of his Tribe. He felt the most safe in the presence of his _ba’vodu_ , the warrior a steadfast wall of protection. He had not felt so secure since _buir_ …

Cadir cut off those thoughts. Any time he thought of her it made his throat tighten and breathing accelerate. He turned over in his cot to face the wall, pointedly not looking at her helmet. When Din’s friend pointed out the vibrant patterns on Vivyc’s armor it took everything for him to not burst into tears. He’d already cried enough in front of others—he wanted to be strong, like Uncle Din. All his uncle saw was him crying since they reunited. That was not the Mandalorian Way.

_Buir_ had just started training him in their ways and culture before everything came tumbling down. Before his life was uprooted.

Again.

Eyes snapped shut as he fought to restrain the real terror, the other reason he woke up in night-sweats. Vacant, vibrant veridian gaze of his dead mother—his other mother, the one who birthed him—stared back at him, her blood slowly pooling around her still body. The blaster bolts that shot through his father rang out so clear in his memory it was like they happened right now. Curling up in a tight coil, Cadir fought back the memories of the bounty hunter who shot both his parents in cold blood, then dragged his father’s corpse from their home. But they came through with stark clarity.

Among those memories he used to take solace in the recollection of his _buir_ stepping in to rescue, but now it made his chest hurt with grief. Before he hyperventilated again, Cadir sat up and tried to focus on anything in the room that was not her helmet. On shaky legs he headed to the door, pressing the button to slide then open.

Darkness and silence filled the corridors, a hollow reminder of just how much they lost. He shivered as he padded down the hall, not sure where he headed. It was so late even the smelter was quiet, normally constant background noise in the waking hours. The smell of the _tiingilar_ lingered, bringing him some comfort. 

For almost half an hour he wandered the tunnels he had learned in the past few months while jogging to keep up with the other Foundlings. He was almost always last in their sprints and spars, which frustrated him at that time. Now he wished to hear goads from some and encouragement from others. Naomi was too old for the group of younglings he forged relationships with, and Zyra so young and so recently Found. Now, those two and Din’s Foundling were all that were left of the children of their Tribe, at least the ones he knew of.

Did he make a mistake deciding to seek refuge with Mandalorians? Was there anywhere truly safe in the galaxy? When his birth parents died he thought he found hope in safety in the armored warriors. The Covert was actually the longest he lived in one place—his birth father’s job made them move a lot. But even these fierce fighters that rescued him could be defeated. 

Before he knew it he found himself in warm orange light of the lava flats to the rear entrance. Two armored shadows hovered at the tunnel opening, their voices showing it was likely Reekho and Wregg on guard duty. Unsure where to go next, he turned and walked back the way he’d come, aimless. 

Cadir knew he was weak, especially compared to other Mandalorians his age. _Buir_ , Din, and some of the other adults reassured him by praising his written tests and telling him how smart he was. “ _Most intelligent ad’ika in the Tribe_!” Siuan would boast to any who’d listen. That did not help with sprinting faster or getting stronger. 

Now he’d never get to become a full Mandalorian.

Inevitably his footsteps carried him back to the room he slept in, the living quarters he and _Buir_ used to share. The door whooshed open, the evening light of the hall reflecting back off the helmet on the far bed. That awful lump returned to his throat and he whipped back around, letting the door shut behind him.

He meandered deeper down the corridor, coming to a halt in front of Din’s living quarters. Shortly after dinner his new cousin fell asleep and his uncle wearily stood and retreated to rest. _Ba’vodu_ did not seem to mind when he was not _Mandokarla_ , when he was scared and showed his weakness. It felt nice for the first time in weeks to wake up in the middle night to an armored protector only feet from him. He knew the Tribe’s provider cared for him, but didn’t know how much until his uncle pressed his forehead to his own. The gesture was not hollow—he felt the raw emotion behind it.

His hand hovered to knock the door, but he stopped. This was the first time Uncle Din would have a chance to sleep without the burden of a helmet. Cadir did not want to be a baby and whine at him over nightmares and anxiety. Plus, his _ba’vo_ was capable of something he did not understand. It had to be the infant who levitated and tugged him through the air and out of the way of the kinrath. 

At first he tried to discount it as being knocked aside by the creature, he knew that was not the case when he hovered about a foot above the ground for a good three seconds before being released. Adrenaline and trauma kept him from lingering on it too much, but when he saw Prushka, Wregg, and Reekho fly through the air as if riding an invisible wave the memory of what happened in the Carlac sewers immediately reared itself. 

Guilt churned in his stomach as he realized he was kind of _scared_ of what his cousin was capable of. But then he remembered the gentle pat of tiny green hands against his helmet, the delighted coos when they enjoyed good food together, the warmth of him cuddling up to his side on the two nights it took to return to Nevarro. Every time the baby did this...magic in front of him it was to defend, to help.

Wrapped up in his rapidly firing mind, Cadir sank to sit by Din’s door. Knowing a fierce Mandalorian warrior was only a few meters away gave him peace enough to settle his thoughts. He fought with all his might against slumber, but eventually surrendered to it. 

He was weak, after all.

@@@

Something jolted Din awake, making his hand dart for his blaster. The soft knocks that woke him repeated, but were subdued like the person tried to keep it quiet. Wearily Din’s hand went from his blaster to his helmet instead. At his side the kid curled up and grumbled in protest as he sat up, tiny hands still firmly curled in fists to his shirt. After he pried the claws from the fabric he stood, joints creaking as he did so.

He was getting old.

The door slid open and to his surprise Prushka stood there, hand extended to knock again. Cadir was on her hip, snoring softly against her shoulder. For a few awkward seconds they just stared at each other through their helmets, Cara’s observations coming back to the front of his mind and causing him to pause. Mind still being fuzzy from sleep did not help things.

“He was sleeping outside your door,” she whispered. When he did not respond she continued in a rush. “I was about to go on second watch and also brought some supplies for your ship and saw him--”

She cut off when Din reached out for Cadir, hooking his hands beneath the boy’s armpits and shifting to carry him instead. “I’ll let him stay in my quarters, he’s still scared from everything that’s happened.” He tried not be startled when the boy in his arms sighed and nuzzled further into his neck, completely slack and relaxed.

“H-here’s a crate of supplies,” she stammered, gesturing to the container at her feet. “I vacuum sealed some leftovers and put more rations and medical supplies in there.” She shifted on her feet, clearly exhibiting odd behavior Cara pointed out that he completely missed before. Were all their interactions from this day forward going to be so...uncomfortable? No, that was not the right sentiment. Her presence was no threat, but his heartbeat picked up either way.

“Thank you.” That’s all he seemed to be able to say to the enormous generosity of the remnants of his Tribe, when _he_ was the reason they struggled. Pathetic.

Prushka cleared her throat. “I...uh...I’ll go grab a cot from his room.” Before he could offer to help she briskly walked down the hall towards Siuan and Cadir’s living quarters. Due to Cara’s previous comments, he ripped his eyes from their focus on her rear and tapered waistline as she walked off. 

Shaking his head he re-entered his quarters, placing Cadir on the cot next to his son. Immediately his child scooted to the warmth and curled up next to the boy, nestling his head into his chest. One of Cadir’s arms wrapped casually over the infant. Warmth blossomed in his chest at the sight, then he exited the room and followed the route Prushka took,

Before he got there he saw her dragging a mattress behind her, trying to be quiet. Din approached and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her from straining herself further. She jumped at the contact. “I’ll help you, hold on a second.” He picked up the other end of the mattress and turned around so he was the one walking backwards towards his quarters.

“ _Vor’e_ ,” she murmured. Din could not tell if she looked at him directly, but as their T-visors faced each other he felt warmth run from the back of his neck to his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears.

_Damn you, Cara._

They got the mattress to his room with little hassle. He turned to exit and get the frame, then saw Prushka stop, head tilting as she observed the two children cuddled together in slumber. “Both of them feel safe with you,” she said quietly, reaching forward to rest a hand against Cadir’s forehead, and then his son’s. After the brief display of affection she turned to face him, walking forward to stand a couple of feet away. His breath hitched. “I’m glad you’re not the selfish _di’kut_ I thought you were.” She reached a hand out in offering. “ _Ni ceta_.”

Din grasped her forearm. In turn her fingers closed around his wrist. “No worries,” he croaked, hoping she didn’t feel his elevated pulse without his vambraces. “ _Cuy ogir’olar_.” Too much time passed until they released their handshake. Din noticed she flexed her hand just like he did after. He was tired, this was getting ridiculous and exhaustion let Cara’s words brew in his brain. 

That had to be it, right?

“L-let’s go get t-the...the bed frame, okay?” Prushka whirled around and left, arms clenched to her sides. Normally her voice was steady and sure, at least in his memory.

Din was on her heels, pointedly averting his gaze every time it drifted to the graceful way she walked to simmer the growing heat in his belly...and further down. Why were these absurd adolescent feelings resurfacing over a decade later? Being the Tribe’s assigned bounty hunter limited any interaction they had in the past few years. Now that they had spent a couple hours in proximity and Cara poisoned his mind he reverted back to being a teen again.

Together they moved a bulky bed frame down the corridor, again awkwardly staring each other down as they had nowhere else to look. Once they got everything set up and situated Din turned to her. “I can’t thank you and the Tribe enough.”

She waved him off. “You are _aliit_. You and I share a birth planet and trained together, it’s no inconvenience help another from there...let alone a Mandalorian like you.” Her voice was breathy and words rushed. “Besides...” Her helm turned to the cot where the children slept, “it was for him, for your son. Any Foundling is worth this sacrifice. Our _buirs_ did the same for us.”

Din nodded. For a brief instant she leaned her forehead forward but restrained, rearing back up and laying two hands on his pauldrons. “ _Vor’e_ ,” she repeated, then withdrew has if her hands caught fire. “If you need me to care for them when you find Paz I don’t mind.”

“Th—thank you.” Manda, that seemed to be all he was able to say that night. Both of them stood at the limited distance, pregnant pause between the two. 

“I need to go relieve Wregg and Reekho from their watch, have a good night’s rest.” She withdrew her hands and whirled around, disappearing down the hallway at a brisk pace. 

Din stood at the doorway for a moment to regulate his accelerated breathing. What was that just now? 

Body finally calmed, he ducked back into his room and settled on the new cot specifically positioned closest to the door. Automatically his hands moved up to remove his helmet, but Cadir flipping over in his sleep halted him.

Hesitating was foolish. The moment his _vod_ died this Foundling’s responsibility fell to other members of the Clan. Seeing as none existed at this point, Din was the closest thing to a _buir_ and Clan member the kid had. 

Surely The Way would let him remove his helmet in the presence of family.

It was still a fight against all instinct to lift the helm and set it on the floor right next to the bed. Tiredness overwhelmed his anxious jumbled thoughts as he slept in peace.

@@@

Cadir startled awake at movements near his ribs. Eyes darted around completely dark, unfamiliar surroundings. A small squeak at his side made him sit up and crab-walk backwards until his back hit the wall. Finally his eyes adjusted and he saw the frown on his cousin’s face, who tucked his three-fingered hands into the blankets and made himself look as small as possible.

“S-sorry,” said Cadir, patting the little one on the head. 

That seemed to soothe the infant, who then picked up one of the blankets and suckled on the corner for a brief instant before dropping over the edge of the cot. Cadir watched him toddle to another bed perpendicular to the foot of the one he rested in, someone resting in it. Between the beds sat a pristine beskar helm, free of designs and paint. His breath caught as the figure rolled over when his cousin climbed up to the bed and tucked in beneath his uncle’s chin.

Uncle Din’s facial features were hard to pick out in the darkness, but he could tell his hair was just a shade lighter than _Buir’s_. And that his skin was olive-tan, not blue like hers either. His eyes probably weren’t red like hers too, but he could not tell with them closed.

The significance of his bare face in front of him was not lost to Cadir; in fact it baffled him this distant warrior basically accepted him into the fold of his Clan with this simple gesture. 

Cadir settled on his back, feeling the most safe, comfortable, and content he had in many many months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor (Leader)  
> Buir (Father/Mother)  
> Ni su’cuyi gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum…Vivyc (I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal...Vivyc)  
> K’uur (Hush)  
> Shuner (Bread)  
> Haashun (“Parchment bread.” Dehydrated bread thin as paper that can be reconstituted with water)  
> Kai’tome (Food)  
> Kaysh guur' skraan (He loves his food)  
> Buy’ce (Helmet)  
> Aruetii (Outsider)  
> Beroya (Bounty hunter)  
> Hetikleyc (Spicy=good. Literally translates to “Nose-burn”)  
> Mandokarla (having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue )  
> Ba’vo (cousin)  
> Vor’e (Thank you)  
> Di’kut (Idiot)  
> Ni ceta (A very solemn serious “I’m really sorry.”)  
> Cuy ogir’olar (It’s neither here nor there; it’s irrelevant.)  
> Aliit (Family)
> 
> Thanks for the well wishes everyone! This is a closing chapter to this story arc before it takes off again, sorry to meander. 
> 
> Appreciate the well-wishes, kudos, and comments!


End file.
